


You and You and Me

by Miriage



Category: Homestuck
Genre: (Okay it's more than "minor"), A love Story, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Middle School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Sburb/Sgrub Sessions, Alternate Universe- Elementary School, Brothers, Child Abuse, Coming Out, Coming of Age, Domestic Fluff, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Relationships, First Love, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Growing Up Together, Happy Ending, He Get's One Eventually, Humanstuck, John was a bully but he didn't know, Kankri is a good big brother, Karkat Needs a Hug, M/M, Mentions of homophobia, Minor Cronus Ampora/Kankri Vantas, Multi, Polyamory, Poor Karkat, Relationship(s), eventual polyamory, hand holding, mentions of Rose/Kanaya, mentions of abuse, second love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-16
Updated: 2018-03-15
Packaged: 2018-09-08 23:57:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 78,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8868193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miriage/pseuds/Miriage
Summary: "You think you’re going to be sick. Your two childhood best friends are going out with each other.Your two childhood crushes are dating each other." It was hard when your first love left you with a broken heart you never knew you could have. It was hard when your second love pushed you away out of fear.It was harder when you realized that after all those years, they both still loved you and were still willing to give you a chance.





	1. Elementary School: John

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write a story about these three. I wanted to write a coming of age story.
> 
> I combined the two.
> 
> I'm quite proud of this so I hope you enjoy.
> 
> I also think that relationships should be accepted as they are and that there are a lot of confused people out there. Confused about love, sexuality, and just life in general. 
> 
> (Fuck it I can't write words from the heart without making it sound cheesy, go read the fic and I'll go back some cookies.)

 

You first met John in kindergarten.

 

You two had immediately…hated each other.

 

 You don’t know what it was, but the second you two saw each other there was this flash of _something_ that had you two lunging at each other’s throats.

Maybe you were pissed off because of how dumb John looked, only in kindergarten but already with big dopey glasses like those nerds in middle school and buckteeth like a beaver. Or maybe it was because he smiled at you like a big dopey idiot.

 

Or maybe it was because he threw a water balloon at your face on that first day during recess.

 

And maybe, John hated you because you “accidently” (but not really) punched him in his little tiny tyke nose hard enough to make it bleed after said water balloon exploded all over your favorite crab-shirt.

 

After that what was later labeled “The Great Kindergarten Wars” began for you two. 

You two grabbed toys from each other, fought on the playground, made extra sure to “accidentally” break each others’ arts and crafts project every Thursday, pointed fingers at each other whenever something got destroyed in the classroom (which happened often), and all in all tried to destroy each other whenever you either of you got the chance.

(And by “destroy” in kindergarteners standards, just try to make the other cry.)

* * *

 

You two quickly fell into a pattern that the other tykes picked up on as soon as the second week of school rolled by. Almost by second nature, whenever the other kids saw the two of you fighting (or at least in a “five feet potential fighting distance” away from each other) they immediately took steps backwards and began playing in a different corner of the classroom.

Meaning that you and John were with each other more times than either of you wanted because everyone named you both the “bad kids.”

 

“Don’t hang out with ‘bad kids’! You’ll get sent to the office!”

(You and John had been sent to the office a record breaking seven times in one day. An accomplishment for a kindergartner actually.)

 

“Don’t hang out with the ‘bad kids’! They’ll break your nose and throw balloons at your face!”

(You didn’t actually “break” John’s nose. Just punched it hard enough for it to bleed.)

 

“Don’t hang out with the ‘bad kids’! The teacher will take away your cookies during snack!” 

(John didn’t seem to care when he didn’t get any cookies. You did though. You loved cookies and you never got any from your dad when you went back home.)

 

Whatever group activity your class had (painting, drawing, coloring, building with blocks) you and John were always forced together because no one wanted to deal with either of you. Naturally, you blamed the other for this and argued throughout whatever project the teacher had assigned you to do.

* * *

 

Then summer came.

And with it came a blessed few months away from John. School you liked. John you hated. (It was unfortunate that you couldn’t have one without the other)

 

Something however changed when you stepped through the doors of your first grade classroom.

 

For one thing, there were new faces. No surprise there though because being in first grade meant a new building (first through sixth rather than nursery through kindergarten) and new kids from different towns.

 

For another thing, the only face you recognized in your new class was John’s.

 

For another, another thing, the other kids (the ones you had never seen before) surrounded John.

* * *

 

It was no surprise that you were alone in first grade.

 

John had somehow (magically even) made friends with all the kids you had never met before over the summer by going to something called “summer camp.”

 

And John had especially made sure to tell everyone else of “that guy who punched me in the nose in kindergarten.”

* * *

  

It was weird, being on the other side of it all _without John._

 

You ate lunch alone. (The teacher back in kindergarten had always forced you two together in hopes that you would become “lunch buddies.”)

 

You played by yourself. (The other kids having never wanted to play with you and John.)

 

You read by yourself. (Another activity that you were again, forced to do with John.)

 

And generally you went from a loud, shouty, slightly angry kindergartener to a quiet, grumpy first grader.

* * *

 

It wasn’t like you tried to prevent it from happening.

The first few weeks of school you and John were at it again, fighting, arguing, and generally making the teacher’s life miserable.

 

But all of a sudden, there were other kids involved.

 

They told you off to the teacher, comforted John whenever you made him cry, and more than once confronted you on the playground.

 

You weren’t scared of them (Okay maybe you were a little) but you were confused.

 

What happened? Why did everyone suddenly start liking John? What was there to like about John?

 

(Why did they not like you?)

 

Kankri, who was four years older than you and in the fifth grade, listened to your whining as sincerely as a ten year old could (“Everyone hates me but loves John!” “I should’ve gone to summer camp too!” “Why did we have to go with dad to stupid Virginia during the summer?”) and then proceeded to lecture you on your behavior. You called him a “dumb butt” and stomped out of his room.

 

But still…. that didn’t solve anything. 

* * *

 

After the fifth time the teacher had called your home to voice her concern about your “behavior towards other well-behaved children,” your father had had enough.

 

He was waiting with his arms crossed when you got back from school with Kankri.

 

“Your school called again.” was all he said. You couldn’t help but tense a little and Kankri almost defensively stepped in front of you.

 

Your father narrowed his eyes. “I won’t accept this behavior.”

 

(Kankri began looking at the door and back to you in alarm.)

 

You’re not exactly sure what happened next, but the following day Kankri had pushed a large black sweater into your hands and had told you to wear it until “it faded.”

 

After that, you stopped “being disruptive” in school.

* * *

 

If your teachers noticed how you basically went from loud to quiet in less than twenty-four hours, they didn’t say.

 

In fact, they seemed relieved that they no longer had to deal with you.

 

But that didn’t mean the other kids stopped.

 

The confronting and the calling you out didn’t stop just because you stopped. It went on.

 

And when one day a kid tripped you while you were walking, that opened a new gateway of confrontations.

* * *

 

In second grade, you had been placed in the same class as John again, something that you loathed (a new word that Kankri taught you) with every fiber in your being.

 

You had walked into the second grade class (the room had been decorated with big cut out paper butterflies and bees) and had immediately seen John with two other kids. When he saw you, he had pulled his two companions closer to him and pointed at you.

 

They had turned around and stuck their tongues out at you.

 

You would have done the same but your dad had a tight grip around your hand and was chatting to the teacher. Something about how she should “Prepare herself for this one.”

 

You didn’t know what that meant but you were pretty sure it wasn’t good.

* * *

 

By third grade you were the quietest, most well behaved kid in the school.

 

You did your work quietly. You read your books quietly. You even answered you questions quietly.

 

In fact you were so quiet, people seemed to forget you were there.

 

(You were so quiet that sometimes, you forget you were there too.)

* * *

 

You had missed the bus that Friday when it happened.

 

And the “it happened” event was the biggest event you ever had in your eight years of living.

 

(Bigger even then when you saw an actual real live crab at H-Mart.)

 

There you were, standing outside watching helplessly as the big yellow school bus pulled farther and farther away from you, when another car pulled up and a back seat window rolled down.

 

To your surprise, it was John.

 

He stuck his head out the open window and offered you an almost smile like looking expression.

 

“Need a ride?” he asked.

 

You immediately said no. That you had two perfectly fine feet. That you were a big boy. That you could walk home.

 

John had rolled his eyes and had asked you if you even knew what your own home address was. You had glared at him and said of course you knew, you had known since the first grade, and that not all kids at school was as big an idiot as him to think they could forget something so-

 

You had then let out a sound that was akin to a rubber chicken being stepped on and covered your mouth and looked around (panicking slightly) trying to make sure that no one (teachers and students alike) was behind you secretly eavesdropping on your conversation.

 

“What’s wrong?”

(For once, his voice didn’t sound teasing.)

 

You had shaken your head. And told him to leave you alone. Told him to go away. Told him that you didn’t want to get in his stupid blue car and that you were just going to walk and that you liked walking and walking was fine and that walking was-

 

That was when the driver seat window had rolled opened and John’s dad stuck his head out the window (how he managed to keep the hat still on his head, you’ll never know) and told you to get in. Told you he was fine with it. Told you that he couldn’t let someone just walk home by their lonely self.

 

Every fiber in your body was telling you to not do it. To not go in. To not do it.

 

But when John’s dad promised homemade cookies and John promised video games (something that you and Kankri hardly got to play) you felt your weak third grade will crumbling.

 

You stayed over at John’s that night.

* * *

 

It was weird when you began speaking loudly again.

 

Kankri, after you had yelled at him for being annoying and never shutting up, had actually burst into tears and hugged you.

 

“Oh god Karkat….oh god….oh god….thank god….”

 

He was muttering that as he petted your head. It was the night before fourth grade for you and the night before eighth for him.

 

And he was crying, more so than he had at the end of the Pokémon movie. More so than he had when he accidentally eaten that spicy pepper at that Mexican restaurant your dad took you two to.

 

You were confused as to why he was crying but he didn’t explain why. Just kept on sobbing into your shoulder.

 

So, instead of asking, you simply raised your arms and hugged him back, reveling in the warm body heat he released.

* * *

 

In fourth and fifth grade, you and John were inseparable.

It was almost as if you two had never fought in your entire lives.

 

You didn’t know how it happened, it just happened somewhere along the way during the end of third grade.

 

He had somehow coaxed you out of your self-created crab shell and made an effort to be your friend.

 

You didn’t understand why he did it at first. Just like you had overnight gone from loud to quiet, John had gone from social to exclusive.

 

Exclusively yours.

 

He began hanging out with you on the playground. He began self-volunteering himself to be your partner. He even gave you his chumHandle.

(Granted he also forced you to make one too.)

 

And yes, at first Kankri began warning you of how dangerous it was to be friendly with the guy who had "Caused all your suffering in first, second, and the beginning of third grade," but still….

 

There was something nice about having John back.

 

You even stopped taking the bus and instead began to carpool with John and his dad.

 

For a while, it was fun.

* * *

 

But you were also suspicious too.

Because sure, it was fun to be with John and to hang out with John, but there was a part of you that was afraid. Afraid that this was just John experimenting. Afraid that today he would be your friend, but tomorrow he wouldn’t.

 

You mentally prepared yourself for that to happen.

 

Only it didn’t.

 

And slowly, your “mental preparation” began wearing off.

* * *

 

You were staying over at John’s (and had just beaten his butt at Mario Kart) when his hand suddenly fell on top of yours.

 

He didn’t seem to notice this and was loudly complaining over how good your video game skills had become (“You didn’t even know ‘Mario Kart’ was a game when you first came over!”) but your eyes were fixated on his hand.

 

His fingernails were long.

 

You had told him that his fingernails were long, adding that they kinda looked like a cat’s.

 

He had then rolled his head over to face yours. “You calling me an animal Karkat?” he asked.

You could see his shoulders pitch up a little bit, as if preparing for the fake punch you were about to (supposed to) give him.

 

Instead though, you intertwine your fingers with his. That seems to surprise him even more.

He doesn’t do anything, just lets his eyes slide from your face to your hands, and watched as you tightened your grip around his.

 

It’s approximately ten seconds later that he grasps your hand back.

* * *

 

It was the July before your entry into middle school (sixth freaking grade!) when John calls you to tell you that he has something important to tell you.

You didn’t like the sound of his voice.

 

When his dad had picked you up from your house, you had asked him what it was that had John sounding so un-John like over the phone.

 

He only told you that it was better if John told you himself.

 

You didn’t like the sound of his voice either.

* * *

 

John looked devastated when he told you the news. The news that had had him sounding so sad over the phone.

He told you that in the fall he would be switching schools. He would be leaving and going to Skaia Private Middle School in the fall.

 

At first, your mind refused to work and you didn’t know what that meant. You had said, in a hesitant voice, good job and congratulations.

 

John then sighed.

 

“It means I’m not going to public school anymore Karkat.”

 

Your brain began working again and you realized what John was going to tell you.

 

“We’re not going to be together anymore.”

* * *

 

That had been the first fight you had had with John in a long time.

 

You yelled at him, asking him why he didn’t tell you sooner. Demanding him to tell you why he thought going to fancy private school was better than going to public. Demanding to know why he was just going to abandon you like garbage.

 

He had yelled back, saying that he didn’t think he would even get into the fancy shmancy school in the first place. He yelled at you to stop being stupid and that you two weren’t going to be separated for life. You two could and would still see each other.

 

You had then yelled back that you might as well have been separated and never see each other again. You yelled that he knew how bad you were at making friends when you were by yourself. You yelled that while he could just waltz in anywhere and make friends, it was harder for you.

You yelled that he would forget about you after hanging out with the Skaia snobs.

 

He yelled at you that he wouldn’t and that making friends wasn’t the “rocket science” you were making it out to be, that it wasn’t hard to make friends if you just applied yourself.

 

You yelled back whose fault he thought it was in the first place that you couldn’t “apply yourself.” Whose fault he thought it was that you had a fear of making friends after what happened to you.

 

Whose fault it was that you were the way you were.

 

That shut him up and you both knew that you had gone too far.

(You had definitely gone too far.)

 

Breathless and angry, you had watched what looked like a regretful hurt pass by John’s face.

 

“Karkat no…. I never meant to…” he began.

 

(It was too much.)

 

You had merely picked up the bag you had brought with you and told him, in a low dangerous voice,

 

“Don’t you ever call me again you jerk.”

 

You didn’t look back as you left and proceeded to walk all the way back home on foot.

* * *

 

You refused to cry until you got back in your room. And even then, you cried quiet tears.

 

Pesterchum began going off the moment you walked back into your room and you knew it would all be messages from John.

 

But you refused to look at them. You refused to even glance at your handle.

 

And after a week of non-stop ringing, John seemed to get the message and stopped.

* * *

 

In sixth grade you were alone.

 

And somehow, with no John there, it was even more painful that it had been in first and second grade.

 

Kids on the playground didn’t shove you around anymore but you were now just ignored.

 

You walked through the halls alone. Did your homework alone. Even came home alone on the bus.

 

And every time you came home, your brother and your father would be fighting.

 

They would be yelling and arguing and you would watch as the vein lines on your father’s head became more and more prominent.

 

It was terrifying to watch, but even more terrifying to see normally quiet, composed Kankri use what your elementary school teacher’s called an “Outside voice.”

 

In a loud yet eerily composed voice, Kankri would scream at your father words that you knew weren’t allowed in a classroom and words that were definitely not allowed to be directed towards your father.

 

You didn’t know what to do and at the time had just quietly went upstairs and locked yourself in your room and hid under the covers.

 

Ten minutes (and a sound of something that sounded like glass breaking) later you heard Kankri stomp upstairs and slam his door.

 

Three minutes later, you heard sobbing through your thin walls.

* * *

 

When you had gone to check up on him (approximately one minute later), all he had done was open the door and had given you a shaky hug.

 

“I’m not wrong…I’m not sick…. Oh god that man Karkat…. that man….” He whimpered into your hair.

 

(You thought you had seen a cut on his lip.)

 

You didn’t know what to do but you returned the hug as best that you could.

 

That only made him seem to cry more.

 


	2. Middle School: Dave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here the second chapter of eight. Shits about to get real good. 
> 
> I mean, it has to now that Dave's here. He's a good person I swear.

The summer before seventh grade found you and Kankri out and about. Your father had wanted the two of you out of the house so Kankri had taken you to the local bookstore where the two of you read (or in Kankri’s case “studied/texted his friend on his phone/studied some more”) your way through the vacation.

 

(Really, your father just wanted Kankri out of the house but Kankri often dragged you out too, not wanting you to be alone in a house with “ that man.”)

 

It was after the fifth short novel you had finished that you had wandered into the teens section, hoping to find something that would last you more than an hour’s read. It felt awkward, looking at books that were meant for older kids, but the bookstore was mainly deserted so you were allowed to browse to your heart’s content without fear of looking like a “high school wannabee.”

 

You had chosen a book at random (one with an interesting cover) and had walked back to your shared table (Kankri had merely glanced up from his huge yellow textbook to acknowledge you) before plopping down on your seat to start reading.

 

And reading.

 

And reading.

 

You barely noticed Kankri tapping your shoulder to get your attention due to how glued you were to the book.

 

The story was…one that you had never read before. The main character (a girl about sixteen) was trying to choose between her best friend and a new boy in her class. Though she had known her best friend since kindergarten, the new boy had also grabbed her attention with his boyish humor and charms. She was having a tough time trying to decide and her parents weren’t being much help either, having left her to be raised by her eccentric aunt at a young age and-

 

It was only when Kankri began to physically shake your shoulder that you had looked up, eyes laced with emotional tears and told him that this was the “best freaking book you had ever read in your life.”

 

Kankri had merely looked at the cover in surprise.

 

“You do realize that is a romance novel aimed towards the female audience,” he said, though you thought you saw him tense a little as he spoke.

 

You had rolled your eyes. “So what? Boys aren’t allowed to like these things? That’s dumb.” was your response.

 

(You had thought you had seen Kankri smile as you said this.)

* * *

 

Seventh grade sucked.

 

But no surprise there, Kankri had told you seventh grade was hard grade for everyone, going into detail about the time a classmate of his made fun of him for resembling a “short, red hydrant.” When he noticed your scowling face however he quickly added that this classmate was now one of his “best friends.”

 

(Kankri’s face had turned red when he said that and he stuttered at the word “best,” as if he was about to say something else.)

 

The beginning of September found you feeling lonelier than you had ever felt before. You could feel yourself reverting further and further back into “pre-John” Karkat. The quiet, socially awkward, almost emotionless Karkat.

 

Almost.

* * *

 

Sometimes, you came home just feeling pissed off. You were annoyed at everyone and everything, barely a month in and hating all your classmates and your classes and yourself. But the person you especially hated was your father.

 

It seemed that everyday, your father was getting more and more under your skin. Whether it was his discipline military like voice, the commands he seemed to bark at you and Kankri, or the unavoidable smashed glass that would follow whenever he and Kankri “talked” to each other (that was, in the off moment that your father even acknowledged Kankri.), it just annoyed you.

 

You wanted to yell or scream or shout at something, at anything, but you didn’t dare raise your voice.

 

You didn’t want to be “disruptive” again.

 

So you instead, began to write.

* * *

 

A few weeks after your school started your homeroom teacher stopped to tell you that the English class you had wanted to take (“Discussions in Modern Romantic Literature”) had been filled up. She smiled at your disappointed face and told you that she had placed you in an art class and that this class would be “As fun as” the English class.

 

You highly doubted her.

 

Then you met Dave.

* * *

 

It was in photo class that you met him. But it was at the fifth class that you actually spoke to him.

 

Before, you had only taken one look at him and decided that you hated him too. Hated his weird pointy shades and hated his somewhat seemingly passive attitude.

(You made sure to give him your best scowl whenever you saw him out of class.)

 

That fifth photo class though was when everything changed. Your teacher had assigned you homework that included “Taking a picture of something that represents life.” You had taken a picture of Kankri from a distance (studying his brains out) and labeled it “School Life.”

 

Dave had taken a picture of two cats humping each other and had labeled it “The Mew-ricle of Life.”

 

When you had seen the picture you couldn't help but roll your eyes and say out loud how fucking stupid the picture was and how idiotic Dave was. You had meant to say it softly but it had accidentally come out louder than you had expected.

To your horror, Dave Strider heard you and had turned his head to look at you in surprise. Before you could mutter a quick apology though, he had immediately “corrected” you, telling you to “Not hate on the cat mew-ricle of life” and that the picture he had taken was work that only an ironic god like himself could produce. He then smirked at _you_ and said that it made sense that someone who was lower on the etchladder of coolness couldn’t appreciate the irony of the “Mew-sterpiece” he had made.

 

(A girl in the back at your class was cracking up at the number of cat puns Dave had made but you chose to ignore her.)

 

Annoyed (and a little of your fear dissipated), you had told him that two cats having sex in black and white was the dumbest thing you had ever seen in your whole life. 

(His lips seemed to twitch a little on the side, almost curving up.)

 

Dave again “corrected” you and told you that this picture (this “A-meow-zing” piece of work) was the “greatest fucking thing you and everybody in this class had ever seen in their entire lives.”

 

You told him he was an idiot.

 

He said he was a genius.

 

The teacher had then thrown you both out of the classroom for disrupting the integrity of the way of the camera.

 

You decided after that that Dave was “okay.”

* * *

 

Dave was…weird.

 

You didn’t fight him like you had with John (with tiny fists and hair pulling) but it was more like he was trying to get a rise out of you half the time you were talking to him.

 

And usually, it worked.

 

He stuck to your side (annoyingly you might add) ever since the camera incident (insisting on calling you “Karkitty” to “commemorate the meeting of future bros”) and told you that someone had to teach you the way of the cool and that you had “So much wasted potential under that big sweater.”

You told him to fuck off and to not touch the sweater (you had grown into just as Kankri had said you would) and that even if he were one of the last humans on planet earth, you would still take your chances and talk to aliens instead.

 

He had merely done that disgusting/kinda cute half smile and told you that no one could “Resist the charms of a Strider.”

 

You told him that you were honored to be the first.

* * *

 

A month a later (while you were struggling in the back of the classroom, trying to develop your photos) Dave had walked over and handed you a piece of paper that had his chumHandle with a (self proclaimed) ironic note of: “You wanna chat?” with the options “yes,” “yes,” and “hell yeah” written under it.

 

You asked him why he didn’t just ask you out loud. He just smiled and said he needed “written evidence of the moment when Karkitty finally agreed to his coolness.”

 

You instead added a fourth option that said “NO!” under the “hell yeah” one and handed it back. Dave (actually) laughed when he saw this and made sure to corner you after class, forcibly write his chumHandle on your arm in permanent hot pink ink.

 

(It took twenty minutes of scrubbing to get off and you were NOT laughing the whole time you were scrubbing.)

* * *

 

You and Dave fell into a pattern.

 

Annoy each other (and to an extent, the teacher) during class, annoy each other after class, annoy each other between classes, and basically annoy each other everyday.

 

And whenever you two were not physically annoying each other, you two were having an online mental battle of wits consisting of gifs, jifs, and pictures.

* * *

 

Kankri smile seemed to widen whenever he saw you furiously texting Dave.

 

“Are you enjoying yourself with your friend Karkat?” he teased lightly.

 

You had immediately answered, “Yes, now fuck off.” to Kankri, too busy trying to find and send a gif faster to Dave to respond thoroughly.

 

It wasn’t until you had successfully found and sent said gif that you realized (face suddenly feeling hot) that you had acknowledged Dave as a friend.

* * *

 

It was strangely familiarly having someone like Dave as your friend. It was as if he fit perfectly into your once anti-social life, like a missing puzzle piece.

You couldn’t place a finger on _why_ it felt familiar though. Not until one night, while messaging Dave, your eyes happened to fall to another person who was also online. You could feel your breath hitch as you read the name.

 

_John Egbert._

 

That’s when it clicked to you.

* * *

 

It was December when your school talked about what being “gay” and “bisexual” meant.

 

The teachers had set up a PowerPoint presentation in the auditorium and told the seventh graders that this would be “one of the most important assemblies you will ever have in your entire lives.” You, like most kids, were disinterested. From what your romance readings had told you, being gay or bisexual was acknowledged but was weird. Often times the main character would have a gay guy friend or her best friend would be comically in love with her but would let her go so that she could be with the main guy character.

 

The PowerPoint though, taught you more than you thought it would.

 

It had shown you word definitions and bar charts and pie charts each talking about the percentage of those “gay” and/or “questioning.”

 

It had shown what it meant to be “gay” or “bisexual” in America. The teachers had looked at the seventh graders and told you that life was confusing.

They told you that it was okay to feel lost.

They told you that liking the same gender or liking both genders was okay.

Told you that, as the future generation, you were entitled to your own feelings and emotions.

 

That day at lunch there was talk in the cafeteria. Seventh graders looking around, wondering if their “best friend in the entire world” actually had a secret crush on them.

 

Some of them were disgusted.

 

Some were intrigued.

 

Some were confused.

 

You…. honestly felt nothing. Sure, you felt enlightened and even more confused about the meaning of “gay” and “bi” than usual, but you continued on with your conversations with Dave, not really paying attention to it all and trying ignore the desperate whispers of “If I thinks she’s cute does that make me…?” or “If I always been thinking of him does that make me….?”

 

It wasn’t until you had waved goodbye/flipped the bird to Dave and gotten on the bus to go home that certain pieces of your childhood began coming together.

 

Pieces that had always been there, but you had never understood until now.

* * *

 

You found yourself walking up to Kankri’s bedroom door and knocking on it. Your brother emerged, looking a bit more tired than he had in his middle school days (with college fast approaching and him desperately wanting a scholarship for reasons that he wouldn’t explain.)

 

(But reasons you think you understand now.)

 

“And what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked semi-sarcastically.

 

You didn’t miss a beat and asked him the question that had been nagging you on the bus. Nagging since you got on the bus. Nagging you like a little annoying emotional imp.

 

“Kankri, are you gay?”

* * *

 

It turns out he was.

 

He was hella gay.

 

He was not only gay, but gay and _dating another guy_.

 

When you had asked him that question, he immediately tensed and paled, any signs of tiredness slipping from his face. He quickly pulled you into his room.

 

“Who told you?” he asked, not even denying/acknowledging the question you had asked. His gaze was intense and fierce, almost like the look he gave your father when they were arguing.

You had nervously played with the hem of your sweater and explained the presentation that had happened at school and how you had been thinking on the bus. Kankri sighed and ran a hand over his face. “I forgot that they did that.” He confessed. He then looked at you.

 

“Yes Karkat, I am gay.”

 

His voice was shaking as he told you yet he maintained eye contact, refusing to look away from you. “I’m gay, I like boys, and I have never been physically attracted to girls.”

 

You hesitated then asked him if that was why he and your father had been fighting so much last year. Asked him if that was why they were still fighting this year. Asked him if that was why he was crying that day when he told you he “wasn’t sick.”

 

Kankri visibly paused and then slowly nodded. “One of the reasons at least.” He said.

 

(You didn’t ask about the other reasons.)

 

You asked him how long he had known. “Since ninth grade.” He confessed. “But I only chose to admit it in tenth grade.”

 

You hesitated again, and then asked him how he knew he was gay. To your surprise, Kankri actually blushed at this and told you that his best friend (the one who called him a fire hydrant) had asked him out, first day of high school in fact, on a date. And while it wasn’t until January that he finally agreed to “give it a try,” it did make him realize some things about himself.

“I never considered dating anybody, let alone a guy.” Kankri said. “But I do not think gender should be a reason to stop someone from…loving someone else.”

 

He then took a step forward and slumped onto your shoulder, burying his face in your sweater. You watched as he took shaky breath.

 

“Does it bother you that I’m gay?” he asked softly. “Now that you know do I…. disgust you too?”

(You can’t help but look down at his red sweater and remember that, despite how hot summer was, he had chosen to wear it everyday.)

 

It takes you a moment before you respond and when you do it’s with an audible sigh. You tell him that no, he doesn’t disgust you and that he could never disgust you. You tell him that just because he’s into dudes doesn’t change the fact that he’s still your annoying older brother. You tell him that just because some people don’t like him being “gay” doesn’t change the fact that Kankri’s still Kankri.

 

“You’re still you.” You say quietly.

 

Somehow, that seems to only make Kankri deflate more into your shoulder. You think you hear a soft sob before two arms are wrapped around you. You hear him say, in a soft, shaky, vulnerable voice,

 

“Thank you.”

* * *

 

You’re trying to reach a particular book from a high shelf in the library when you suddenly hear Dave laughing from behind you. Gritting your teeth, you tell him to shut up or you will shove this “five hundred page literary shit show down his throat with your bare hands.”

 

He responds “if” you ever reached said “literary shit show.” You turned around and flipped him the bird before continuing on with your struggling (cursing the library for designing the shelves for people over the height of five foot one and a half.) He watches you struggle for what feels like an eternity (but was actually approximately two minutes one second according to Dave) before saying that as much as he loved watching you flail like a cat begging for a treat, he was actually planning on the two of you hanging out for your annual “Dave-Strider-Karkitty-Bro-Off” night.

“Then fucking help me.” You said, turning around and crossing your arms. Dave just shrugged, walked over to you and grabbed said book you had been reaching for with ease.

 

“And that’s how you do it Karkat.” He says, looking down at you and smiling. His body then suddenly froze and you could hear his breath hitching as he looked down at you, one arm still raised above your head clutching the “literary shit show” while the other arm held the space next to your arm for support.

 

It was almost as if you were…. pinned underneath him.

 

You can almost see the outline of his eyes from behind his pointy shades widen as they look at you. You watch as his Adam’s apple bobs slightly as he (still) looks down at you. Your faces, though not extremely close together, are closer than they usually are.

 

To your surprise, you feel your own heart’s beating pace begin to quicken as you look up at Dave and feel his warm breath touch your face.

 

You don’t know how long the two of you stay in that position.

* * *

 

 

It was the two months before the end of eighth grade when it happened.

You and Dave were playfully pushing each other in the hallway, joking about who was the bigger idiot (“Totally not me Karkitty.” “Says the guy who’s still wearing his brother’s glasses!”) when someone yelled out at the two of you,

 

“GAY!”

 

Your hand was on Dave’s chest when you heard someone say that one syllable word, one meaning word: “Gay.”

A couple of kids began to snicker, staring and pointing at the two of you in your seemingly compromising positions. You had blushed but had also rolled your eyes because, even though you hated being the center of attention, your experience with Kankri made you realize that there was nothing wrong with being gay or with other people being gay. It was just a choice in romantic relationships that people blew up to a gigantic size because they couldn’t handle it.

 

It was bullshit.

 

At least, that’s what you thought.

 

But you soon came to realize…that wasn’t what Dave thought though.

* * *

 

After that incident, Dave pushed himself away from you and suddenly became more distant.

 

He stopped inviting you over, (making up the excuse that his big brother, Dirk, always had his friend Jake over and it would be “hella awkward if I invited you over too since our apartment can only handle so much cool”) he stopped talking to you in photo class and after class, and went so far as to no longer pester you online.

 

It wasn’t even a gradual stop. It was one day there was Dave and the next day _poof_.

 

No more Dave.

* * *

 

You admit that you became a little obsessive. You messaged him non-stop. You tried to catch him whenever you saw him in school. Tried even waiting outside of one of his other classes.

You knew you were being an annoying shit but you couldn’t help it. You were confused. You were desperate. You didn’t want Dave to leave you.

 

You didn’t want to be alone again.

* * *

 

You couldn’t help but wonder…if this was how John felt when you pushed him away. You wondered if past John, like current you, with all his messaging and all his callings, was just trying to talk to you. Just trying to explain himself

 

Like you were trying to do with Dave now.

* * *

 

It was at the beginning of the summer that you met Kankri’s boyfriend. And you were hella surprised because Kankri’s choice in men was so…. unexpected.

 

Kankri’s boyfriend seemed to encompass everything that wasn’t Kankri, all the way down to the appearance: Tall, slicked back hair, and with a look that just told you a single conversation with him would end with a headache.

 

“The fuck.” You muttered, looking Cronus up and down. “How the fuck did you convince Kankri to date you?”

 

Kankri had turned to lecture you about your choice of words when Cronus had suddenly wrapped both his long arms around your brother and had given him a backwards hug. To your utter surprise, Kankri’s face blushed the darkest shade of red you had ever seen in your entire life.

 

Cronus had merely grinned at your shocked expression and said, “That’s how.”

* * *

 

 It was the summer before ninth grade when you finally, finally got a message from Dave.

 

At the time, Kankri and Cronus were about to move into a new apartment that they planned on living in for the next four years. Cronus had gotten accepted into a university but had refused to move into the uni’s “shitty dorm room” and his father had agreed to pay partial lease on an apartment in a good neighborhood that, although was a bit far from the campus, was close enough to a train station that could get Cronus to classes so long as he woke up in the morning. 

Kankri meanwhile was moving in with Cronus, half to be his alarm clock in the morning and half to avoid also paying for college board (as his liberal arts college scholarship only covered so much.)

 

But not so secretly, you think it was also because he wanted to stay close to you.

 

“There’s…room for one more ya’now.” Cronus had said, looking at you. He and Kankri offered (in Kankri’s case, insisted) that you move in with them, as Kankri didn’t trust what could happen if you and “that man” were in the same house together alone.

(And frankly, neither did you.)

 

But there was one catch to this: moving would mean going to a different school in a different town.

 

Away from Dave.

* * *

 

They had made that offer to you in the middle of the summer and you had immediately messaged Dave about your dilemma, half-hopping that he would try to convince you to stay. Try to convince you to not move and switch schools. Try to (maybe) even offer you his home as a place to stay.

 

To your surprise and relief, Dave messaged you back not two hours later.

 

However, it wasn’t the type of message you wanted.

* * *

 

He told you he was going to Skaia Private High school.

 

He told you he didn’t want you to contact him anymore.

 

He told you he couldn’t be friends with someone who was gay. Couldn’t be friends with some romance reading nerd who was just a closeted gay walking around in a big sweater.

 

Told you to never, _ever_ contact him again.

 

He basically…did to you what you had done to John.

* * *

 

In your new bed, in Kankri and Cronus’ new apartment, the night before ninth grade in a new school,

 

You never felt more alone.

 


	3. High School: Karkat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone had a nice Christmas! I went to a family friend's house and enjoyed Greek food and Smash. Not a bad Xmas at all......

It was one week into the new school year when the rumors began.

 

You had been in your new school’s library, browsing through their romance novel collection, when you and another girl had reached for the same book. Fingers brushing against each other, you quickly pulled your hand back, apologized, and then continued to look for a different novel.

You didn’t notice the girl giving you a strange look as she watched you. Not when you were busying yourself with trying to chose between _Pride and Prejudice_ (a self proclaimed romance novel must read) and the sequel to _Something Borrowed._ Or when you decided to ignore both novels and instead pull out _The Time Traveler’s Wife._

No, you didn’t notice it then. But you did notice it when, as you were walking past her with said traveling time wife book in hand, that you heard her say under her breath (but loud enough so that you could hear it),

 

“Fucking faggot.”

 

You had immediately stopped, whipped around to face her and (channeling an inner Kankri you never knew you had) told her to her face that there was nothing wrong with being gay. Told her that two guys being in love was something that pig headed brainless bitches like her were too self-centered to understand.

 

Told her that she was a fucking prick to think that words like “fag” could affect you. 

 

At the time, you had been thinking of Kankri and Cronus. You had been thinking of the soft morning moment they had shared when Cronus had kissed Kankri on the cheek before running out of the apartment. Had been thinking of the smile that had etched itself on Kankri’s face as he touched the place where he had been kissed. You had remembered the way your brother had rolled his eyes and pushed you out the door as you asked him if it would be a spring wedding and would he be wearing a wedding dress.

 

It didn’t occur to you that what you told the empty headed bitch could be misinterpreted at all because, at the time, all you were thinking of Kankri and Cronus.

* * *

 

It was the first time you had been pushed down the stairs in a long time.

You could see black spots dance in your vision and your body felt bruised from where you had collided with stair step after stair step. The laughing from the guys who had pushed you down echoed in your ears as they told you that “fucking faggots like you weren’t welcome here.”

 You had looked up and snarled, baring your teeth and all, and then launched yourself at them with flying fists, feeling angry and seeing red.

 

However, one against four you soon learned was a _very_ unfair advantage.

* * *

 

It didn’t occur to you that your new school was very _very_ different from your old school.

You had thought that kids your age would be as accepting of gays and bisexuals as you were. Had thought that their seventh graders had had that PowerPoint presentation as well. Had thought that kids would accept love for what it was and not for what genders were doing the loving.

 

But that was where you were wrong. Oh so very wrong. 

 

The rumors broke out like a wildfire and by the end of September everyone who knew your name immediately knew your label:

 

_Karkat Vantas The Fucking Faggot_

* * *

 

Upperclassmen would even pick on you, but not in the same way the underclassmen did. No, they had to make sure that colleges saw them as “sweet innocent angels” who would never stoop to such a level as “bullying.”

Instead, you got used to being cornered and showing up to your science class late with the ghost markings of “faggot” written on your forehead that took (once you got home) at least an hour to scrub off.

* * *

 

By October you were still everyone’s “gay faggot” punching bag but you had just…given up.

 

Fighting did nothing but get you sent to the office while your tormentors were let off scot-free. Punching and screaming did nothing but end in an almost broken nose everyday. And not even the school counselor could offer you much advice besides “encouraging” you to start a “Gay Straight Alliance Club.” A club that, given your current situation, would have had Dave laughing at how darkly ironic it was.

 

(Your insides immediately felt stabs of pain as you thought of…. him.)

 

Yes, you _hated_ how you reverted back to “pre-John, pre-Dave” Karkat. But then again, it seemed to be a defense mechanism for you.

* * *

 

Kankri couldn’t protect you from the horrors of the high school social castes. But at the same time, you were lucky to even have Kankri and his boyfriend to help you when got back from the long school day. A day of being shoved into lockers and having the word “fag” scribbled onto your face.

 

You could tell that Kankri wanted to help. You could tell that he really really wanted to help.

 

He knew that your silence and anger was just a wall you made for yourself. He knew that, after fifteen years of being your brother and having the same awful father as you, that you had never had it easy.

  
But you also knew that Kankri had never experienced anything like what you were going through. And at nineteen Kankri had suddenly went from a “brother” to you to a “brother _and_ guardian” to you. He had to suddenly not only study for a new mountain of classes, but also work a part time job and pay the apartment bills. He had to make sure there was food for you to eat. Had to make sure that he could in some way, _anyway_ , help you.

 

Sometimes you saw him, late at night when nightmares plagued your sleep, cradling a cup of coffee looking so small and helpless. Nothing like the big brother you had remembered lecturing you about the importance of doing your fourth grade math homework. Nothing like the big brother who had defiantly stood up against the man you two used to live with.

 

In those moments, you woke Cronus up and told him that Kankri needed him.

 

In those moments, watching as your brother leaned against his boyfriend’s chest, you remembered what you stood up for that day in the library and what you would stand up for everyday if you had to.

* * *

 

You wore the black sweater constantly now. It became less of a “gothic teenage angst fashion statement” as John used to call it all those years back and more of a protective blanket.

 

(Another jolt of pain went through you as you thought about…. him)

 

It was worn in several places and was coming loose at the hem, but you still wore it because it covered you. It covered the dark patches of purple that would smother your arms and it covered the words that the upperclassmen drew on you when they weren’t aiming for your face.

 

But you also wore it to remind yourself that you weren’t alone at school. You were it to remember what you were coming home to at the end of the day.

 

You wore it to keep your sanity.

* * *

 

Your English teacher stopped you, one October afternoon before you could leave her class, asking if you could spare her some time. You, having nowhere to go on a Friday, nodded your head and pulled up an empty seat in front of her desk.

 

“So Mr. Vantas, I read some of your work….” She said, with an almost unreadable expression and you couldn’t help but mentally brace yourself for her harsh criticism of your “too flowery language” and your “disgustingly overused descriptions.”

 

“And I have to say…. it is quite good.”

 

You blinked and looked up in surprised. A small smile etched itself on her face.

 

“You have potential to become an excellent novelist Mr. Vantas.” She said smiling. “Keep up the good work.”

* * *

 

Around the beginning of March people began to get tired of physically abusing you.

 

You supposed it was because they got bored of you and that they no longer saw fun in a ninth grader who wouldn’t even shout or yell or fight back when shoved around like a doll. Instead, your tormentors found fun in simply tripping you in class and verbally picking on you. To these too, you did your best to ignore.

 

It was nice, no longer having to immediately be bandaged after coming home. But that didn’t mean it made life easier.

 

It just took one poisonous monstrosity away from the “Karkat Vantas Dinner Plate of Misfortune.”

* * *

 

Six months were a long time.

 

September, October, November, December, January, and February. That’s how long you had had to put up with it all.

 

Six months of nothing but banged heads and bruised shoulders. Six months of having words written onto your skin like a nasty tattoo. Six months of ignoring and ignoring and ignoring everything and anything. Six months of feeling lonelier than you ever felt in your life.

You hated those months. Hated them with a burning passion that incinerated every happy emotion in you. You hated your classmate's laughing faces as you were pushed and pulled like one of Dave’s puppets or one of John’s clown harlequins. Hated that, every time you were hurt you would even have the audacity to think of John and Dave. Hated how no one, not anyone at all, would even try to help you in school.

 

But at the same time, those six months you saw your brother come out of a shell you never knew he had. A shell that was almost as thick as your own crab shell. You saw what a home life was really supposed to be, with smiles and joking and just the feeling of everything being warm.

 

It confused you to no end. Here you were: angry, annoyed, pissed off, scared, and alone but at the same time you had never felt more loved and warm. Where high school was a raging hell fire, home life was like a soft candle, comforting and nice. 

Your inner feelings and turmoil seesawed. You couldn’t tell if you were happy or sad some days. You couldn’t tell if you were pushing people away, like you did at school, or opening yourself up like you did at home.

 

You didn’t know  how you could explain it out loud, so instead you wrote in your stories (that only your English teacher knew you wrote) your feelings. You wrote about how love was stupid and unrealistic but if done right (you glanced up at Kankri and Cronus),

 

Could actually save someone.

* * *

 

It was in June when your English teacher stopped you in the hallways to tell you that your writing had come so far since when she had first read your work in October.

 

“Thanks.” You said, feeling a bit embarrassed and wanting to leave as quickly as possible. She smiled.

 

“You really wrote some good work…” she said, “But I also think that you could improve so much more if there was a better writing program for you.” She then handed you a booklet and told you that she would help you, in whatever way she could, to make sure you got that English scholarship.

“I think if you went here you would benefit from their writing program so much more.”

 

You looked down at the booklet she gave you and felt your stomach drop.

 

In large yellow letters the words “Skaia Private High” glared up at you.

* * *

 

The summer before tenth grade found you writing in local cafes and libraries a series of “writing prompts” your English teacher had given you.

 

She desperately wanted you to go to Skaia High. Desperately wanted you to become a better writer. You however were indifferent. Skaia High was an expensive school filled with rich pricks. Skaia High was an hour away by car or bus from your apartment. Just saying the words “Skaia High” in the hallways of your own school made people think about kids who’s parents were celebrities or business tycoons or amazing scientists.

 

But to you, Skaia High was where Dave was. Skaia High was where John was.

 

Skaia High was what had taken away your two best friends. Had caused you to lash out at John and was the place that Dave escaped to in order to get away from you.

If you went to Skaia Private High it would destroy whatever little ounce of dignity you had left within you. Would only make you feel even more shitty and pathetic. But then again, looking back on the past ninth grade school year, you guess that _nothing_ could be worse than what you had already been through.

So, with rolling eyes and with encouragement from your brother (who supported any reason for you to get the hell away from your current school) you began to put together a writing portfolio, 100% sure that you would never _ever_ get the scholarship.

 

And two weeks into tenth grade you submitted the portfolio without another thought.

* * *

 

It was around November when you’re called into the principle’s office over loudspeaker. A couple of kids in your class tried to trip you as you got up and left but luckily your instincts kicked in and you caught yourself before you went down (twice.)

 

Walking into your office, you were surprised to see your ninth grade English teacher and the principle talking excitedly. Nervously, you took a seat in front of the brown desk and waited for them to acknowledge you.

To your surprise, your English teacher leaned over took both your hands in hers and told you that she “Knew you could do it!” and that you really did have a “Special talent too big to be contained!” Confused, you looked to your principle, who was smiling at you and looked ecstatic, and asked what the hell was going on (not even caring that you were cursing a little in front of him)

 

He just told you congratulations, which only proved to confuse you more.

 

“What?” you asked, feeling a little light headed from all the unexpected praise. “What the fu-hell do you mean?”

 

He told you you should be proud of yourself (which only served to confuse you more and prompted another “What the hell?!” from you) Then he finally, _finally_ told you what had happened. 

He told you that you had, against all odds, received the Skaia English scholarship. Told you that you should really be proud of yourself. Told you that Skaia High was to be your new school for the remainder of your high school life. Told you that next year this time, you would be walking the halls of Skaia Private High.

 

You never felt sicker to your stomach then you did right then and there.

* * *

 

You didn’t want to go. You really, really didn’t want to go. Staring at the acceptance letter on the kitchen table as you waited for Kankri and Cronus to get back only made you feel smaller and smaller by the passing minute.

 

Skaia High…. that was where Dave was. That was where John was. Dave, who you hadn’t seen since eighth grade, was going to be there. John, who you hadn’t seen since your big fight before sixth grade, was going to be there.

 

The two who had been your friends, your only friends, were going to be there.

The two who had been your companions, your allies, and the cause of your heartbreak were going to be there.

* * *

 

You hadn’t realized it then, but somewhere along the way you realized that you had…. liked them.

 

As in, _liked_ them liked them Liked them as in a non-bro like way. Liked them as in homosexual way. Liked them as in a “Yeah I know you’re a dude but I still like you” way.

 

And even though you had been labeled “gay” since ninth grade and had the mental and physical battle scars to prove it, actually admitting it was terrifying.

 

And as you had shown Kankri and Cronus the acceptance letter and told them that you were terrified of going because he would be there, that _they_ would be there, the words of “I really liked him” slipped out of you. You felt your blood grow cold and your ears go numb as you tuned out Kankri lectures to suddenly realize something about yourself.

 

“Shit.” You mumbled, thinking hard. There was no way right? You had never had girls chasing after you in your entire life and your only two closest friends were John and Dave but still there was no fucking way….

 

A tightness in your chest suddenly made it hard to breathe as you just began thinking-no- _reliving_ every moment you had had with him. The hand touching, the joking around, the time you spent online, the moment in the library…

 

“Karkat?”

 

Your brother’s voice cuts through you and you look up at him, eyes wide, and tell him in a shaky voice,

 

“I think… I’m gay too.”

* * *

 

Tenth grade ends with you being shoved in a trashcan and with chewed up lunch food being thrown at your face.

 

“Have fun at Skaia weirdo.” Someone says as they give the trashcan a kick and laugh as they walk away.

You ignore the gross feeling of spaghetti sliding into your ears and chocolate milk seeping into your underwear and, for the first time in school, allow a positive thought to float through your head.

 

Maybe…this would be it. Maybe in Skaia High there would be no more name calling and shoving and dumpster pushing. Maybe in Skaia you could actually just be you. Sure there would be John and Dave but Skaia High, although smaller than your public high school, would still have room for you to avoid them.

 

Maybe…you could actually be an author like your teacher thought you could be. Like Kankri thought you could be. Like Cronus thought you could be.

 

You allow yourself, despite the smell and the filth that surrounds you, to hope just a little bit.

* * *

 

Skaia Fucking Private High School made all students wear a uniform.

 

Even the “definitely can’t afford this school” scholarship kids.

You pull at the tie around your neck as you’re introduced along with others. Like you, they had received scholarships based on their advanced skill in one subject. Chemistry, computing, history, art, and (to your surprise) oceanography.

 

The other kids looked just as nervous as you did, tugging at the uniforms they weren’t used to wearing and playing with loose strands of hair (your own hair was unkempt as usual as you had avoided Kankri’s “comb of death” like the plague that morning.) You’re all lined up on the massive theater stage, being watched by the other Skaia eleventh graders, as a microphone is passed from scholarship student to scholarship student, each saying their name and some bullshit thing that they liked or were interested in. Each of the eleventh graders before you had something interesting to say: interested in debate, liked and owned nine cats, interested and liked computing and could hack the school if they wanted to (you make a mental note not to piss that guy off) and then finally the mic is passed to you.

 

Your fingers fumble for it and you have to use to both hands to grasp it because _wow you are not used to public speaking at all_.

“Karkat Vantas.” you say, trying to ignore the feeling of a million eleventh grade eyes staring you down. “I like…uh…”

 

Your mind completely draws a blank and for a terrifying fifteen seconds you can’t think or say anything. The only thought you had in your head seems stupid and dangerous to say out loud but, after another agonizing five seconds, so you decide to just fuck it anyway because you don’t care if you sounded lame. “Romance novels.”

There’s a snicker from some of the students for your rushed (and incredibly lame) answer but you really don’t care. Just as you’re about to hand the mic to the teacher next to you though, you hear someone yell from somewhere in the audience,

 

“Faggot!”

 

That’s when your head snaps up and you growl. You yank the microphone back to you and yell, loud enough that people on Mars could probably hear your voice,

 

“YEAH YOU GOT A FUCKING PROBLEM WITH THAT!?”

 

Needless to say, the auditorium goes dead silent and the rush of adrenaline that you just felt surge through you extinguishes itself in an instant.

 

You had just…fucked up.

* * *

 

Walking out of the auditorium, you are sure that everyone now officially hates you. Hates you and thinks you're weird. Hates you for being gay like your old school did. You can’t help but mentally cringe at the thought of this coming school year. If only you had been quiet. If only you had said you liked books instead of romance novels.

 

But to your surprise, the Skaia students do the exact opposite of what you thought they would do.

* * *

 

You’re met with smiling faces and thumbs up of approval from your classmates. You’re met with complements and praises, some students even telling you how “fucking awesome” you were for telling the stupid prick in the audience off. You’re met with students who admit to you that they were closeted but after seeing you so passionately being yourself that they were given the courage to do so to.

 

The Skaia students accept you without even questioning and for the first time, since fourth and fifth and since seventh and eighth grade, you felt safe at your own school.

* * *

 

You thank your lucky stars that Skaia High has a big campus and a lot of classes because as luck would have it, the two students you really _really_ didn’t want to see were still going to Skaia.

It was weird because sometimes, as you talked to two of your classmates in your English writing class (a couple named Rose and Kanaya who you had met when you and Rose were forced into a “romance writing slam off” that you had barely won and that Rose had barely lost) you overheard their names multiple times from different conversations.

 

“Dave Strider just posted a new mix on Soundcloud!”

 

“John Egbert just won another piano competition!”

 

“Have you seen the new photos taken by Dave?”

 

“Did you know the reason biology canceled class yesterday was because John hid all the frogs they were supposed to dissect?”

 

Just hearing their names made you nervous (as Rose and Kanaya pointed out your “change in expression” every time you heard the duo’s names.) You had long since deactivated your handle (too embarrassed and ashamed of using after you realized how you abused it when talking to John and Dave) but that still didn’t make their presence any less _there._

On campus, a picture of John playing the piano greeted you every time you entered the music department. Black and white Polaroid pictures “Taken by Dave Strider” met you every time you walked into the art department.

 

It made you uncomfortable and worried to say the least. Even though you still hadn’t “seen” them, they were still there.

* * *

 

It was the first time you had had friends since Dave.

 

You, Rose, and Kanaya would eat lunch together, help each other out on homework and even text each other after school. One time, you three even saw a movie together.

It was strange and oddly nice to have friends again. Friends who, although could be annoyingly motherly at times (as you often cursed them out for) were also there to just be…. there. To just be with you.

But at the same time…. Rose and Kanaya’s presence lacked something that Dave and John had brought. Lacked the warm feeling the other two had brought. Yes, you still felt happy with them and felt safe with them…

 

But you just didn’t get the same…. feeling as you had had when you had been with John or Dave.

* * *

 

A month into the school year and you screw up.

 

It’s a fucking Friday when you miss the big yellow school bus and you all but raise your head to the sky and scream “Fuck my life!” in annoyance. Grumbling at your idiotically slow running speed, you reach for your cellphone and call up Cronus. (Why Kankri, after all these years, never learned how to drive is beyond you. Then again, here you were: an eleventh grader calling your brother’s boyfriend to pick up your sorry ass.)

 

“Sup Jr. Chief?”

 

You groan and tell Cronus that you “hated it when he called you that name.” You can hear the voice on the opposite end of the line chuckle as he asks what you need.

 

“A pick up.” You say, running a hand through your hair. “I missed the fucking school bus because my useless sticks I call legs are too short to run with.”

 

The line goes silent. Then you hear the words “Shit this is real bad,” being mumbled into the receiver. You pause and then ask what is “real bad.” You can hear Cronus sigh and confess that he and Kankri were actually out on an impromptu date and that it would take them about an hour tops to come get you.

 

“Sorry.” You hear him say, sounding sheepish. It’s a sound that makes you feel immediately bad and guilty. You let out a long breath and then tell them to enjoy themselves. Tell him that you’re not that big of a brat to deny Kankri and Cronus precious dating time

 

“You don’t need ta-.” You can hear Cronus say but you cut him off by telling him that you want him and Kankri to relax and that they deserved to do so and that waiting in school wasn’t like waiting in hell or something. Before he can respond you quickly hang up and begin the walk back to the main entrance, mentally hoping that your phone has enough battery to last for the next hour or so.

 

That’s when a car pulls up in next to you.

* * *

 

You admit that, in those rare moments when you allowed yourself to think and wonder about John and Dave, you had always pictured John driving a blue Prius and Dave driving a red Jeep.

John had always liked blue and you had made sure that he always got a blue marker whenever you two had drawn together back in elementary school and Dave was so obsessed with red that one time he had drawn a dick on your arm in retaliation to you grabbing the last red jar of paint from him back in eighth grade art.

 

So when a red Prius pulls up next to you while you walk, you don’t think much of it. You just continue walking and hoping that the 50% left in your phone would last. When you hear the sound of the roof of the red Prius opening up you still don’t think much of it.

 

But when someone calls you out by your full name you turn around in surprise. And in the next moment it’s almost as if someone has just ripped the world from beneath your feet.

 

Because right behind you, half his torso sticking out of the fucking Prius’ sun roof,

 

Is John Egbert.

 


	4. High School: John and Dave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter and before New Year's too! This one was a definite fun one to write! Happy New Years!

Words have died in your throat. In fact, it feels like a lot of things have died inside of you. In fact, you don’t even feel like you right now. It’s like the current you isn’t even _the_ current you, but a Karkat from a time when hearing _his_ voice made you feel a jolt of excitement. Where _his_ voice immediately brought a smile to your face. Where _his_ voice would be the first thing you heard on a Monday morning.

(And you hated how you felt that now.)

 

You watch in a mixture of horror and disbelief as your ex-best friend/childhood crush _John_ continues to call your name.

 

“Hey! Karkat Vantas! Karkaaaattt!!”

 

He’s literally shouting your name (even though you’re less than five feet away from him) and waving his arms like a maniac as if you can’t see him. Your legs have stopped moving and you’re amazed you’re even still standing up (and have not yet crumpled to the ground in a heap of shocked Karkat sludge) as John jumps out of the Prius’ open hood and lands in front of you as gracefully as a cat.

 

You can hear your own heartbeat in your fucking ears as John looks up at you, adjusts his glasses, and _smiles._ Smiles like he’s actually happy to see you. Smiles like he actually wanted to see you (why he would though is beyond you.)

 

“Holy shit Karkat! It is really you!”

 

It’s John…. but it’s not John. The guy in front of you has John’s face, hair, and buckteeth, but he’s older than the John you remember. His voice is deeper, his height is different too (he’s definitely taller than you) and he doesn’t resemble anything like the pre-sixth grade John you were friends with. The pre-sixth grade John who you argued with. The pre-sixth grade John who you fucking pushed away.

 

But at the same time, you could recognize him as _John_ from anywhere.

 

As if to add to your initial surprise, John outstretches his arms, like he’s going to give you hug, declaring that he knew the “Angry guy in the auditorium looked familiar!”

 

(The smile is still on his fucking face.)

 

You feel yourself flinch as he takes a step forward and (in response) you quickly take a step back before those arms can wrap around your body. It’s actually more of a lurch back because _it’s your ex-best friend John and he was about to hug you as if you two were still friends._

A look of hurt crosses his face (which you don’t understand) and his bottom lip juts out a little (which is alarmingly endearing) as he asks in a broken sounding voice,

 

“Karkat?”

 

You visibly gulp and try to say something but unfortunately your words are still dead inside of you and really if they weren’t, what were you supposed to say because you still can’t believe this is even happening to you and _oh god why was he going to hug you?_

 

You’re not aware that the driver’s window of the red Prius is rolling down behind John (as your brain is still too caught up looking at John to look behind him) but _fuck_ you should’ve looked behind John because maybe if you did, maybe if you didn’t spend all those precious seconds staring at John’s grown up eleventh grade face (which was unfortunately alarmingly more attractive than the pictures in the music department had showcased him), maybe if you had just looked behind him to see who the fuck was driving the red Pruis then maybe _maybe,_

“I think you broke him Egbert.”

 

Maybe you could’ve prepared yourself mentally for seeing _Dave_ again.

* * *

 

If there was ever a time for the universe to spontaneously travel back about an hour into the past, it would be this fucking moment because _Dave Strider is also right in front of you._ And how you have not yet melted into a pitiful puddle of Vantas goop is still a mystery to you because now you’re staring at _Dave Strider_ again.

It’s the Dave you had argued with in art class as he showed you his shitty black and white photos. It’s the Dave you had laughed with and threatened to kill on the weekends as he pummeled your ass at Mario Kart. It’s the Dave who you had playfully teased in middle school. It’s the Dave who had pushed you away because he was afraid of being caught with a romance reading soon-to-be-declared gay kid.

 

And it’s the Dave who is currently trying hard to keep the smirk off his face as your eyes grow even wider and you stare at him because _shit he grew up too._

 

Not as much as John but still enough to make him look less like a middle schooler and more of a high schooler. His features were also more defined and he’s not wearing his signature pointed shades anymore, instead wearing ones with rounded frames that make him look less anime-wanna-be-ish and more douche-y, but still….

 

It’s Dave and he’s driving a fucking red Prius. It’s Dave and he’s there. It’s Dave and _oh god his voice got deeper too._

* * *

 

Your heart is officially in “Freak the Fuck Out” mode and you’re not exactly sure what to do or where to look.

 

You can tell by John’s worried face (which annoys you) and Dave’s slightly bemused face (which annoys you _more_ ) that they are watching you and letting whatever freak-out you are going through to pass before they say something. But honestly, it feels like time has stood still and your feet are glued to the fucking pavement.

 

You run through your possible courses of actions as your eyes dart from ex-childhood friend to ex-childhood friend. Of course, the logical choice would be to abscond the fuck away but where the fuck would you abscond to? It was stupid to run back into the school building (where these two could obviously find you because you still don’t even know where the bathrooms are let alone a good hiding spot) and it was even stupider to try to run away from them outside (because well…. a car could beat a person running any day. Especially if that person was shaking so badly that even their fingers were starting to lose feeling.)

 

But…. what were you supposed to say to the two guys you had a not-so-hetero crush once upon a time? What were you supposed to even do? Whatever you did do would be bad because not only is it one of them but _both_ of them in front of you and _Oh god…. this was going to be awkward wasn’t it?_

 

Yes, no matter what stupid, hastily made decision you were about to do/make, it was going to be awkward.

 

So…. in all that was awkward and hastily decided, you mentally choose to just fuck it and say in a loud, clear and surprisingly normal unshaking voice:

 

“FUCK OFF YOU DICKMUNCHERS!”

* * *

 

Unfortunately, shouting “FUCK OFF YOU DICKMUNCHERS!” only had the opposite effect you were going for because rather than “FUCK OFF” like you had told them to, they actually had the audacity to do the very opposite of “FUCKING OFF.”

Meaning that Dave opened the car door and got out of the Prius and decided to join John outside. And John decided to take a step forward towards you. And they both decided to be even more in front of you and just look at you in your shaking, wide eyed, nervous state.

Your feet can move again and you quickly take another step back, ready to run if the need arose (where to you didn’t know and didn’t care.) But before you could bolt Dave is suddenly at your side and you realize too late that he could still do that flash stepping thing as he clamps a hand on your shaky state. You let out a gasp (out of shock or alarm you don’t know) and then (to your added horror) John grabs both of your hands and you are effectively trapped between them.

 

You want to disappear, right then and there, and you squeeze your eyes shut because you just can’t handle their stares anymore and your heart is hammering in your chest.

 

Then, to your surprise, you hear Dave whisper in your ear, “Missed you too man.” as John says, at the same time, “It’s great to see you again!”

* * *

 

In the end, the universe decides to be an even bigger dick to you as, due to an unfortunate chain of events that started with your fucking phone ringing while you were in a John-Karkat-Dave sandwich, Dave ends up texting back to Kankri that you were getting a ride from “the two bro-iest bros that ever bro-ed before.” Which led to your current, red Prius, trapped scenario.

 

There’s a cheerful banter going on between John and Dave (as they try to ease the god awful tension that’s filling the god awful red Prius) as they drive you back to your apartment (which you had been forced to tell them the location of as they hustled you into the car.) To be fair, you could’ve tried harder to get away from them and you berate yourself for making a mountain out of what could’ve just been a quick “Hi! Nice to see you! Okay bye!” situation. But you, having the horrible habit of acting first then thinking later (a habit that had only served to get you in trouble these past seventeen years), just had to go and blow it.

 

They shoot questions at you and you do your best to keep the answering to a minimum (quiet Karkat defense mechanism kicking in and making you hold your tongue) saying only a quick “Yes” or “No.” Yet despite their initial “let’s trap Karkat and try to make him socialize with us!” attitude, you’re surprised that they not only don’t force you to elaborate your answers, but also don’t seem to mind (or comment) on the bluntness of your responses, instead continuing to talk with each other. You can’t help but eavesdrop in on the interaction between the two of them, watching in (what you admit to be) fascination as they tease and argue with each other like they were best friends.

 

(And hell, they probably were.)

 

It was…. weird to say the least. Your two friends/crushes were talking and even occasionally (to your amazement) _flirting_ with each other as you sat like a motherfucking freeloader in the back of their god awful red Prius (you swear to yourself you would never _ever_ buy a Prius after this) and you wish, for the first time, that your apartment wasn't so far away from your school and wish, for the twentieth time, that you had caught that school bus.

* * *

 

“So Karkat!” John suddenly says, turning his head around to face you in your miserable position in the back seat to ask you his eighth (you’ve been counting) question. “How you liking Skaia High?”

You pause before you answer. If you had to be honest, compared to your old high school, Skaia was a god sent blessing. Hell, Skaia High even had better lighting then your old school. At Skaia, you could be yourself without worrying about being shoved by some asshole. You could openly just be you.

“It’s okay.” You instead choose to mutter under your breath.

 

There’s a silence in the front (that lasts about five seconds) before Dave asks you (his fifth question), “Met any cute guys yet?”

 

A sound that sounds like you choking on your on spit is emitted from your throat and you almost ( _almost_ ) strangle the son of a bitch.

 

“Wha-?! FUCK NO!” You snarl, your voice beginning to rise to a yell. “Why would I-?! I don’t have fucking time for-!”

 

“Dude you basically came out in front of the entire school.” Dave says, cutting you off from your god awful spluttering. You can hear the smirk in his infuriatingly low growl of a voice and you wish, for the tenth time since you entered the car, that John was the one driving so you could punch Dave in the side of his face. “Some guys at Skaia find that pretty fucking endearing.”

The idea of you being “endearing” is so laughably ridiculous that you can’t help but let a fraction of your contained laughter escape out of you. “Yeah, like who?” You snort. “It’s not like all out guys wear a shirt that says ‘I’m Gay! I think you’re hot! Date me!’ on it. And anyway what kind of a idiotic, backwards ass, shitsniffer would want _me_ as a boyfriend?”

The car is eerily quiet for a few seconds too long. No sarcastic quip from Dave and not even a chuckle from John. You glance up and away from the window you had pushed yourself against, confused at the lack of response from the two. To your surprise, John’s eyes are on you and you see his Adam’s apple move a little and you think you see (reflected in the car’s radio’s light) Dave’s ears turn a healthy looking pink.

 

Your brain stutters to a halt and there’s a tightness in your chest that suddenly constricts you even more. You quickly look back out the window. “Relationships are fucking bullshit anyways and I don’t have time for anything that fucking vanilla.” You say, pointedly not looking at the two.

 

You thank all amphibious gods above that they decide not to comment on how rushed your voice sounded and instead go back to their talking/flirting thing as you silently chant in your head _“let me be home soon_.”

* * *

 

You avoid Kankri’s questions of “Who did you get a ride from?” and “Are you feeling okay?” to instead flop face first into the couch and let out a long, miserable chain of “Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCKKKKKKKK…”

“Karkat, you know that type of language can be quite triggering to some people and that by using that word multiple times in succession can be-” You effectively cut Kankri off by looking up from your pitiful position to give him a pained stare before burying your nose back in the couch. There’s a long silent pause, then you hear Kankri call to Cronus to “Make some hot chocolate,” before you feel the couch slump a little as Kankri sits next to your legs and asks you, in a less lecturing more supportive type of voice, what happened.

Face still in the couch cushions, you mumble pathetically, “John and Dave.” There’s another pause then Kankri asks, “What?” in an almost disbelieving voice. You lift your head and whimper out, “Dave Strider and mother-fucking John Egbert,” then face plant your back into the cushions.

 

That’s all the answer that Kankri needs.

* * *

 

A month of not finding your ass and suddenly _BAM_ , John and Dave were everywhere.

 

You saw them out of the corner of your eye as you left your English class (leaning up against the wall as if waiting for someone.) You saw them standing ten feet away from you in the cafeteria line (talking about new video games and web comics.) You saw them whenever you walked over to the art department, the music department, and even the gym. And more often than not you saw them together, laughing, joking around, and teasing each other. One time, to your utter disbelief, you even saw them _fucking holding hands_ (probably ironically, knowing Dave.)

 

And more often than not, they tried to get you to talk to them. Which, you were currently refusing to do.

 

It wasn’t that you really had a grudge against them (okay, maybe you did have a small grudge against Dave for pulling the “no-homo” card on your ass back in middle school) but it was more like you didn’t trust talking to them again because it was too…. _weird_. The uncomfortable goddamn tension you had with the two of them was just _too fucking much._ What were you supposed to do? Address it? Not address? Talk about it? Not talk about? You couldn’t just fall back into a friendship with them because falling back into a friendship with them seemed too…dangerous.

Maybe…maybe you _did_ actually have a grudge against them for not being there for you when you needed them. Your history with John was complicated and awkward thanks to elementary school and him being the origin of your Karkat Vantas hermit shell, and your history with Dave felt even more complicated because not only were you older when the events with Dave had happened, but he was the one who pushed you away.

 

But then again, now that you _really_ thought about it, it was all pretty much _your fault_ that all the bad shit happened to you _._

 

If you hadn’t gotten angry and pushed John away when you were little, if you had only acted manlier and more bro like with Dave, then maybe _maybe_ now they would still be your friends. But you had screwed up and whatever had happened to you was probably just your comeuppance for being a miserable excuse for a friend.

 

And now, seeing them together and happy, it makes you wonder _why_ they were so desperate to get you to interact with them.

* * *

 

It’s the Wednesday following the “Friday-Red-Fucking-Prius” incident that Rose and Kanaya betray you. Well, “betray” was a strong word (especially because they don’t know what’s going between you and the other two) but you still can’t help but feel betrayed as you see them and John and Dave sitting at the same lunch table together.

You immediately stopped and felt a wave of cold nervousness hit you hard. You then look away, coming up with the mental excuse that you needed to recheck your science homework and therefore couldn’t eat lunch today with Rose and Kanaya because you wanted to make sure you didn’t accidentally fuck said science homework up. Besides, missing one lunch wouldn’t be that bad and food wasn’t really as important as Kankri drilled into your head and-

 

“Karkat darling we can all see you. Please come over here.”

 

The voice of Kanaya cuts through your mental ramblings and you look up to see her gesturing to the seat next to her. (You can’t help but wish you weren’t standing so fucking close to them.) You sit down (still feeling betrayed) and try your best to not make eye contact with anyone in front of you (John and Dave) and just remain fixated on the bread covering the ham and cheese in your sandwich. The conversation continues to flow around you and, for the first time since coming to Skaia, you couldn’t help but feel a bit out of place. It was obvious that Rose and Kanaya knew John and Dave (as the banter between Rose and Dave proved anything) but it didn’t make the situation any less comforting to you. You mentally debated whether you should sit there and wait it out or if you should just shove all your food in your face and abscond the fuck out of there.

 

“Karkat? Are you okay? You’re being awfully quiet this afternoon.”

 

You chance a look to your left and you see that Kanaya is frowning slightly and you can’t help but feel a bit guilty for wanting to previously abscond the fuck out of there. Just because you didn’t want to talk to the two problems in front of you didn’t mean that you should just blow off your new friends.

 

“Nah I’m fine.” You mumble. “Just tired.”

 

You think you hear Kanaya emit a small sigh of relief in response. “Ah I see. Was it your science homework again? It was the main topic of your ah- _ranting_ yesterday.”

You feel your cheeks heat up a little and mumble, “Something like that.”

 

You _did_ rant about your science homework last night to Kanaya and Rose, but it was more of you trying to keep your mind off John and Dave rather than your usual “Fuck-science-why-do-I-need-science-I-want-to-be-a-fucking-author-in-seven-years-why-do-I-need-science?” type rant.

 

“You know…” You hear Rose say from next to Kanaya. “I think I know someone who can help you with that…. what did you call it again? ‘The spawn of the Satan aliens?’” It doesn’t take a genius to know that the snort-laughter noise from in front of you was from John and the low chuckle was from Dave. You silently bemoan Rose and Kanaya and their motherly tendencies.

 

“Yeah who?” You mutter again, looking away from Rose (and Kanaya) to go back to pointedly glaring at your lunch.

 

“He’s…or should I say… _they’re_ right in front of you.” You go from glaring at your milk to glance upwards. Your gaze unfortunately catches John’s grinning face and Dave’s smirking one.

 

“Oh you gotta be fucking kidding me.” You say louder than you intended to. You think you hear Rose giggle from next to Kanaya.

 

“Why do you think I invited them today Karkat? I wouldn’t want that science homework of yours to be the reason why you’re wasting precious romance novella writing hours.”

(On second thought, maybe Rose and Kanaya _were_ trying to betray you.)

* * *

 

You suspected…. No…. You _knew_ that Kankri still hated John and Dave for what they had done to back in elementary and middle school. He of all people knew how much you struggled in school and social interactions. He had seen you at your worse and your best (whatever age and grade your “best” had been) so you knew, you _just knew_ that he would eventually give you a lecture on how to best approach and avoid your new “John-Dave” dilemma.

Yet even _Kankri_ “betrayed” you when he suggested, one month after the “Friday-Red-Fucking-Prius” incident that you try and reform a friendship with the two. As in those two. As in John and Dave. As in “been-bothering-you-every-fucking-DAY-since-that-Friday” John and Dave.

 

You had all but water gunned the water in your mouth _out_ of your mouth when you heard him say this. You guess it was a good thing that Cronus liked water because now his shirt was soaked with it. You ignored your brother’s boyfriend’s cry of “What the hell?!” to scream out your own (much louder) “WHAT THE HELL?!”

You stare at your brother as if he had just grown a pair of horns. “Shouldn’t you of all people be more pissed off at _them_ than me?! Why are you trying to get me all ‘buddy-buddy’ with them again?!”

 

(Cronus had since gotten up to change his spit soaked shirt.)

 

Kankri sighed and told you that as much as they “pissed him off,” he also knew that you wouldn’t be happy if you became obsessed with trying to avoid them twenty-four seven. Rose and Kanaya had all but forced the two to join you three during lunch and whenever they invited you out over the weekend you would all “coincidentally” run into John and Dave who also just “happened to be” going where you three were going.

 

You groan, tempted to face palm your face into your chicken dinner. “Out of everyone I thought you would be on _my_ side Kankri.” You say bitterly.

 

You hear Kankri sigh. “All I am saying is that if they are willing to try and reform a friendship with you again, you should at least on your end _consider_ it. I think it would benefit the three of you greatly if you would just hear what they have to say.” You feel his hand ruffle your messy hair. “If they still make you feel uncomfortable afterwards, then you should end the friendship on your terms.”

You sigh and roll your eyes, taking another sip of water…but you don’t respond with a “Fuck NO!” as you think Kankri thought you would have.

 

You think you see a trace of a smile on your brother’s face as you finish up your dinner.

* * *

 

Reactivating your old chumHandle was the fastest way to contact them you supposed. Of course you could Facebook message them, but something about writing to them while seeing their little picture taken faces smile at you was a bit…disturbing. It was much easier to look at a green ghost and a broken red record.

(You think.)

Still though, the messages you want to type to them all seem weird when you try to write to them. How do you even start? Even your mental planning of the messages sounded horrible as it consisted of you explaining how you were a jerk to John and how Dave was a jerk to you but since that was all done and done it shouldn’t matter anymore yet it did because you still remember it like it was yesterday and-

 

You sigh and begin to hit your head lightly against your desk.

 

Why were they so obsessed with you anyway? There were a hundred other kids to bother at Skaia so why were they after your ass? Sure, you three had had history but it wasn’t like they had liked you the same way you had liked them. It wasn’t like they had a gay crush on you like you had had with them. Dave had pushed you away because he thought you two looked too gay together for crying out loud and him and John probably had a hundred other girls after their…. asses…

 

It’s at the fifth head-desk hit when a thought suddenly pops itself into your mind. Didn’t John and Dave have girls who liked them? You had never seen them with any other girl besides Rose and Kanaya and it wasn’t like Rose and Kanaya were “single and ready to mingle” with guys. Hell, they were dating each other for crying out loud. In fact the only people you had ever seen John and Dave flirt with was….

_Each other_ …

 

Raising your head slowly, you do the very thing you had told yourself you were NOT going to do and pull up Facebook on your laptop. Scrolling down, you find the first post with a link to one of their names and click on it. Dave’s profile page stares back at you but you ignore his “ironically” taken photos and (holding your breath) click on the “About” page. The file takes less than a second to load and-

 

You blink.

 

There, posted under where he was born, his relationship status emerges before you.

 

_In a Relationship with John Egbert_  

* * *

 

 

An odd shudder goes through you as you read and reread the words over and over again: _In a Relationship with John Egbert, In a Relationship with John Egbert, In a Relationship with John-FUCKING-Egbert_

Your heart begins to throb with an unexplainable pain as your fingers click over to John’s page and there, a perfect mirror image of Dave’s are the words:

 

_In a Relationship with Dave Strider._

* * *

 

You think you’re going to be sick. Your two childhood best friends are going out with each other.

 

Your two childhood crushes are dating each other.

 

 


	5. High School: Dave and John

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope your New Year is good so far. Going back to college next week . FUCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK

If Kankri notices how pale you are the next day, he doesn’t comment on it. In fact, he doesn’t even comment on how it took him three tries to get your attention when he asked if you wanted milk or orange juice. Or how you just stared dumbly at your breakfast instead of eating it.

 

The daily morning rush of Cronus and Kankri happens around you but you don’t feel a part of it. You don’t feel a part of anything right now. You feel as if someone just cut you out of the universe and all that is left is the ghost of your presence. A ghost who is forced to witness life still continuing on even after death. Of course you didn’t actually die, but you feel like something inside of your conscience _has_ died. You watch as Cronus does his daily “surprise kiss attack” on your brother and how Kankri still blushes at the contact. You watch as Kankri mutters something under his breath about his boyfriend (his face is still red) and then proceeds to pack up his own college material. You watch as he tells you your lunch money is on the counter and you feel his hand ruffle your messy hair as he reminds you not to miss the morning bus.

 

(He still doesn’t comment on your lack of words or how blank your expression is and you can’t help but greatly appreciate his silence.)

* * *

 

Just like how not seeing John and Dave suddenly turned into _constantly_ seeing John and Dave, seeing John and Dave suddenly turned from a rush of panic to a jab of pain.

 

You couldn’t help but cringe whenever you saw them together, mentally taking note of every time their bodies would touch or every time one of them grinned. Whether it was a fist bump, a slight push, or quick smile, each of their movements suddenly looked _more_ than they used to be. At lunch when John had teasingly offered to _feed_ Dave a french fry you actually chocked on your milk and had to excuse yourself.

 

(You had no idea what to do.)

* * *

 

You had told Rose and Kanaya (again) one November afternoon that you couldn’t go to lunch (again) because you wanted to cram in some extra studying. “College shit,” you muttered, looking down and trying not to make eye contact. You didn’t want to look at their disappointed faces as you lied to them (again). Lied to them about the _actual_ reason why you didn’t want to eat with them.

 

“Oh… Okay then.”

 

You can’t help but flinch when you hear how sad Kanaya sounds and you mentally berate yourself for your stupidity. You knew what you were doing was wrong and you knew, _you just knew_ , that this was what the “young Karkat Vatntas” would do. He would shut himself away. He would push himself away. He would cut himself out.

 

(But again, you didn’t know what to do.)

* * *

 

A hand slams itself down on the library table you’re studying at and you can’t help but jump a little, knocking over your (luckily empty) carton of milk. You look up to ask what the ever loving fuck the idiotic hand slammer thought he was doing but you were instead met with the angry face of _John_ of all people.

(You didn’t even know John could _be_ angry.)

 

“What the _fuck_ Karkat?” he whispers in a hissing, almost snake like voice. “Do you know how _upset_ you’re making Rose and Kanaya? I have _never_ seen Rose this beat up before and I’ve known her for _years._ ”

A terrified shudder runs through your body as John actually _glares_ at you, but you stare defiantly back at John and tell him, in a calm voice, that you had no idea what the ever loving fuck he was talking about. However, you can’t help but feel a knot of worry grow in you as you think about…. _them_.

John lets out an exasperated sigh. “Rose and Kanaya.” He states bluntly. “Your _friends_ remember? The ones you’ve been ignoring for the last couple of weeks.” He annunciates the word “weeks” as if to drive the point that you hadn’t just been ignoring them at school, but also after school as well.

 

He’s trying to make you feel bad and you know it. He’s trying to get you riled up and you know it. He’s trying to get you to tell him something, _anything_ about whatever was going on inside of your head.

 

But you can’t tell him. No…. you _won’t_ tell him.

 

You grit your teeth and snarl at him that it wasn’t his business what you did or didn’t do and if he could just leave you alone then it would be greatly appreciated. “I’m sure Dave’s worried about you.” You shot back, making sure to look straight into his stupid blue eyes as you said so.

John’s face begins to flush a light shade of red and a terrified part of you worries that you overstepped an invisible boundary that you _weren’t_ (emphasis on the word “weren’t”) supposed to.

 

“Is that what this is about?” He says. “You’re ignoring them because of me and _Dave?_ ” he asks, his voice rising in anger. You feel your hands begin to tremble and a lump begin to form in your throat as John _scowls_ at you.

 

“Jesus Karkat I thought that you would’ve grown up after all these years but you’re still the same dumbass now as you were then.” You can almost hear the words that John hadn’t said as he looks at you with fury in his eyes and you feel that uncomfortable lump grow bigger inside of you because John basically told you that y _ou haven’t changed at all since you were little._

* * *

 

You suddenly can’t look at him. You don’t want to look at him. You don’t want him to look at you so you look down, the heat that had previously been pumping through your body being replaced by a rush of cold that coats every inch of your insides, going so far as to extend to even your toes.

(Shit. You will not, _will not_ , break down in front of John. You _loathe_ the idea of doing so and you bite down hard on the inside of your cheek but your eyes are already becoming blurry with _fucking tears_.)

 

You want to say something back. You want to hurt John with some choice words of your own. You want to call out his flaws in a masked sentence like he had done. You want to tell him that he had no right to be angry with you when he had abandoned you. That he had used you when you two were kids. That he never saw you as a friend when you had seen him as one.

 

But instead, all that slips out of you are two broken sounding words. _“I…. know….”_

* * *

 

There’s a long silence that extends between the two of you and you can almost see the tension in the air as you hear the breath rush of from John out of shock.

 

“What?” he asks after what feels like an eternity later.

 

Your curiosity gets the better of you and you look up to. The mixed look of hurt and surprise that appears on John’s face catches you off guard and you choke on the (massive) lump in your throat and feel (to your horror) two pathetic tears drip from your eyes.

 

“I…. FUCKING _KNOW_!” You scream at him loudly because he’s _right_. Because this is exactly what you did and what you _always_ did. You pushed people away because of your insecurities. You pushed and pushed and pushed and ignored others. And no matter how much you wanted to blame John, you couldn’t because all your thoughts about John _were lies_. John was never a bad friend. John was never a horrible person. He was your friend, your best friend, once upon a time. He was a person you had really really _really_ liked once upon a time.

(And now he was someone else’s.)

 

You despise the look of commiseration he gives you, as if he’s breaking down every emotion that is flying through your vulnerable state and you want him to go away and let you deal with your stupid problems on your own. You let your gaze drop. 

“Go the fuck away.” You mumble, watching as your textbook becomes decorated with wet tear stains. Your hands curl themselves into small fists as you add in a weak sound, “Please.”

 

He doesn’t say anything but you know he still there. He's still watching you sniffle and he’s still watching as more and more tears slip from your cheeks. You can still hear how his breath hitches every so often as he watches you.

You try to swallow down the lump in your throat as your death grip on your own hands becomes more and more harsh. You can feel your fingernails, however blunt they maybe, indent your palms as more and more shudders run through you and your brain becomes plagued with self-deprecating thoughts of your stupid and pitiful self.

 

It’s on what feels like your one hundredth shudder and two hundredth sniffle that John finally _finally_ moves and you can’t help but feel both relieved and even sadder as he does so.

* * *

 

To your surprise, John doesn’t move away from you.

 

Instead he crosses around the table and pulls out the seat next to your chair. You can see from the corner of your eye that he’s sitting down and is extending his hand out. You can feel the heat from his hand linger near your cheek, almost touching it, before dropping slowly to one of your clenched fists.

Slowly, _slowly,_ as if testing the waters of a forbidden lake, his hand begins to encompass yours and you can’t help but notice how rough his hands have become despite how delicate they looked in those photos of him playing piano.

 

It’s when he begins to undo your tight fingers and entwine his own fingers with yours that you completely breakdown. He doesn’t say anything, just grasps your hand as you cry and cry and cry.

 

(And despite everything, you can’t help but enjoy the feeling of being with John again and you can’t help but enjoy the feeling of his hand holding yours again.)

* * *

 

“I’m sorry.” You tell Rose and Kanaya that next day.

 

You don’t text them, you don’t message them. You tell them, straight to their faces when you see them in English class, that you were sorry. That you were more than sorry. You look at them both with slightly puffy eyes and tell them that you were being stupid and you were being unclear and that you were so _fucking_ sorry.

They look at you, surprised that your talking and _apologizing_ to them after what might as well have been a high school eternity. You push down every single anxiety and panicky emotion you feel building inside of you as you tell them that there was something they needed to know. That you had something important to tell them. That you had something you want to tell them and that something was a thing that you have never told anyone before.

 

And you’re glad, for the first time, that Rose and Kanaya are the motherly type of friends as they look at each other, than at you, and calmly tell you that they wanted to listen.

* * *

 

You lead them to a secluded section on campus at lunch and sit them down. You know that, in your limited forty-five minutes, you were going to have to tell them why you were ignoring them. Why you were pushing them away. Why you were acting nothing like the Karkat they knew. Still, it takes you ten minutes to get your thoughts together before you can tell them. And when you begin to, you can’t stop.

 

You tell them about when you were little. You tell them about how you met John and how you hated him. You tell them about how you envied him. You tell them how you two became friends. You tell them about how that had ended.

You then tell them about Dave. You tell them how you met him. You tell them what you two had used to do together. You tell them about how close you two were. You tell them how that ended.

 You don't tell them about your father though. You don’t tell them about Kankri and Cronus. Those were stories that you didn’t want them to know. Whether now or never, you still weren’t so sure yourself. But about John and Dave, you tell them because they deserve to know.

 

And you think they realize, somewhere along the way as you explain yourself, that you had had a crush on these two guys once upon a time. And you think they realize that seeing them and knowing that they were in a relationship only served to make you feel even more confused.

 

When you finally finish the three of you had already missed thirty minutes of your next class and the three of you are sniffling, holding back tears.

 

“I didn’t know.” Rose said. “I only heard what Dave had told me. I’m sorry I didn’t know.” She takes your left hand as Kanaya (on your other side) takes your right hand.

 

The three of you miss the remaining fifteen minutes of your class in silence.

* * *

 

There’s something unspoken that now connected you and John.

 

It was surprisingly less awkward now when you saw him. Sure, you still haven’t properly apologized for the “before middle school” fiasco, but after what happened in the library, how he held your hand as you fucking cried, you couldn’t help but feel…. more comfortable when you and John were alone together. You had even gone so far as to ask John to help you study for your science test (which in turn had gained you your first B+ in a scientific based examination. You and Cronus had celebrated while Kankri rolled your eyes and muttered how “interesting” art people were.)

Yet despite how comfortably John was beginning to come back into your life, there were still moments of awkwardness between you two. There were moments where you found yourself scared of talking to him. There were times where you didn’t want to talk to him.

 

It was confusing to you. You felt you two were somewhere between “almost forgiven” and “almost friends.” Hell, you didn’t even _know_ if you wanted to be his friend or not because, though you two had shared a _moment_ in the library, it still didn’t change the fact that (more often than not) John was always with _Dave._

 

And it still didn’t change the fact that Dave and John were dating.

* * *

 

“How come you’re never on Pesterchum anymore?” John asks you one day as the two of you wait at your usual lunch table for Rose, Kanaya, and (to a lesser extent,) Dave to join you. You had merely shrugged and told him that though you had reactivated your chumHandle, you didn’t really see the need to use it since you saw all that you could pester everyday at school. You had hoped he would drop the subject after that but, knowing John, he instead chose to continue the subject, going so far as to comment on how you “texted Rose and Kanaya” but didn’t “pester him and Dave.” 

You couldn’t suppress the familiar shudder that went through you as John said Dave’s name and (ignoring the ever present thought that John and Dave were a _thing_ ) you instead asked him why he even _wanted_ you to pester him and if he and Dave were really that fucking desperate and lonely after school and on the weekends to ask to converse with _you_ of all people.

 

John’s quiet for a few seconds and you think he finally dropped the subject when he whispers, softly as if telling you a secret, “Maybe we are.”

 

If Rose and Kanaya noticed how red you were when they sat down they don’t comment on it.

 

(But you don’t miss the…. _look_ that John shares with Dave before the latter sits down.)

* * *

 

“I think you should talk to him.”

 

You look up confused (your open science textbook mocking your eleventh grade English writing oriented brain) at John who had just spoken. From the corner of your eye you see Rose and Kanaya share a quick look before simultaneously closing their own textbooks, as if preparing to watch an epic showdown.

 

You can’t help but suddenly feel nervous.

 

“To who?” You ask, feeling puzzled but also feigning ignorance because you’re pretty sure you know who the “who” is. And you’re pretty sure, with the way John rolls his eyes that he knows that you know who he is talking about.

“Nic Cage,” He half-jokes but you can see in the way he “jokingly” spits out the name that “Nic Cage” isn’t the person he’s talking about. You look down again at your textbook. “Don’t wanna.” you mutter, choosing to direct the glare you were about to give John to the ugly dancing chemicals in your book. You hear John groan.

 

“Seriously Karkat?” he says, “Haven’t you noticed how _desperate_ Dave is?”

 

You hunch your shoulders a little bit and childishly shake your head. “If that’s how Dave acts when he’s desperate then I can’t image how that idiotic piece of fucking trash would act when he’s ‘normal.’” You mumble, still not looking up. “And anyway if he really was so desperate why are _you_ telling me this John?”

This time you hear John groan in frustration while simultaneously performing a double face palm. “Karkat every time one of us even _mentions_ Dave you do this weird scowl-cringe thing and we have to _drop_ the subject because you go all hermit crab on us.”

 

Oh. You didn’t think they would notice when you did that. You glance a look up and you can see John biting his bottom lip, as if trying to find words to explain himself. You feel you’re inner wall of resentment begin to crumble a little.

 

(Fuck, you were a sucker for that face.) 

* * *

 

“Yes? Can I help you Vantas?”

You scowl. What was it with Dave and suddenly using your last name? You almost miss the days when he used to call you “Karkitty.”

 

(Almost.)

 

“Yes you dipshit. Why do you think I asked John to drag you out here anyway?” You grumble. “I’m surprised that you can’t pick up a hint Da- Strider.”

(Two could play at the “last name” game.)

 

You can see John spying on the two of you from the corner of your eye and you jerk your head a little, inviting him to join you and Dave because…well…you’re still a little nervous being just with Dave and maybe John’s presence could help.

 

(Maybe.)

 

Your relief at John joining you ends though as he comments that you sure were “more prickly than a cactus, the most tsundere of plants” as he walks over. You groan as Dave and John then proceed to bro fist in front of you and share a disgustingly annoying grin.

 

(God why did you want to fix your relationship with these two idiots again?)

 

“If you two would stop acting like the ‘world’s happiest homosexual couple then-’” You begin, but you stop yourself by biting down on your lip because _god why did you have to bring up their relationship again_? You had been mentally suppressing it so you could talk to Dave but now, with the two of them in front of you, you’re suddenly reminded again that these two guys were _dating_. You cough nervously, that awkward lump forming in your throat again.

“’Then’ what Vantas?” You hear Dave ask in his low voice. You feel your face become a little warmer as he, almost teasingly, says your name. You can’t help but choke a little bit on your own breath, barely getting out a, “Look I just…” before you stop again. You can feel your hands ball themselves into small fists and feel that stupid shudder run through your body. You take a deep breath and look up at the ceiling, trying to get your thoughts together.

“Can we maybe…talk tomorrow?” You say to the ceiling. “I have…. I think I have…. to say something…” You clear your throat and quickly add that John could come too (though who’s presence he’d be better benefitting, you or Dave’s, you don’t know.)

 

Dave doesn’t say anything, but you can fell (even from behind his shades) that he’s staring you down with those red eyes of his. “Sure bro.” he answers, (his voice causing the hairs on the back of you neck to rise) “I’ll listen to whatever you have to say.”

 

You couldn’t tell because you weren’t looking at him, but John tells you later that Dave was grinning that cute grin of his after you walked away.

* * *

 

Saturday morning finds you playing with your sweater and sitting alone in your apartment. Kankri and Cronus agreed to let you use the home as a “battleground” of sorts after hearing that this was going to be your “attempt” of patching things up with Dave. When you had added that John would be coming too, your brother and his boyfriend had shared a quick glance and Kankri asked if you were _positive_ you didn’t want them there (he even offered to leave Cronus behind to act as a bodyguard of sorts.)

 

You had nodded and told them that this was something you had to do and something that you…wanted to do by yourself.

 

(You think you saw Kankri smile a little when you said this.)

* * *

 

After Kankri and Cronus left you kept glancing at the clock, knowing that at eleven exactly those two idiots would be knocking at your door. And, knowing Dave, it would be exactly at eleven. Not a minute before or after. You remember back in middle school whenever you had gone over to Dave’s apartment, he had refused to open the door to let your ass in until it was exactly the time you two had agreed upon. He was weird in that way and it was one of the things that you had found both mind wrenchingly annoying and a bit endearing back when you were the younger, still not out about his sexuality, Karkat.

 

(And great, now you’re pissed off again because you remember specifically Dave telling you he wasn’t gay and then spinning it around on your ass and going to date _John_ of all people. If operation: “Make Friends with Dave Again” proved to be fruitless, you were so pounding Dave’s ass into the ground.)

 

Just as you suspected, at eleven exactly a series of knocks start attacking your door. You sigh and brace yourself for the shit storm to come.

* * *

 

After all the awkward talk of “Nice place you got here,” “You live alone?” “Oh I remember Kankri” “He’s gay!? Really?” “Wow I really like that…. clock,” passes, its just you and Dave awkwardly looking not at each other as John tries to fill in the silence.

 

“If you think about…” John says, laughing nervously. “It’s pretty cool how we all know each other. I mean when I met Dave I never thought that we would both know you Karkat.” He laughs again and you can't help but wonder if John and Dave had talked about you before they started dating because if they did then…. _wow that must’ve been an awkward conversation._

John’s enthusiasm, however optimistic, unfortunately does not reach both you and Dave though. Despite how you keep glancing up at Dave and wanting to say something to him, you couldn’t help but feel…. scared about the risk you were about to take.

 

Hell, _you were worried._

 

Worried that by letting Dave come back into your life you’d care about him again. And you didn’t know if there was enough room to _care_ for Dave now that you had let John halfway back in because, despite the broken relationship being somewhat repaired, you were still scared. You were still hella scared. If this happened, if you forgave Dave, then you had basically forgiven the two people who had single handedly destroyed you and built you up. You were forgiving your two first loves. You were forgiving the friends who were now dating.

 

(Suddenly, John’s presence didn’t feel as comfortable as you had initially thought it would be.)

* * *

 

“I’m really sorry.”

 

That’s what Dave says when he finally decides to talk.

 

He apologizes. To you. Hell he even pushes his shades up and looks at you with those red eyes of his and you suddenly notice the clamminess of your hands as Dave rubs his nose nervously and clears his throats with a low grunt. (You can't help but notice a faint trail of redness brush over his face.)

“I was just so…fucking scared.” he said. “I mean…. I thought…. that being ‘gay’ was for freaks and I always liked girls so…. I didn’t think I could also be, y’know…”

 

You want to say something. You want to tell him that you understand. You want to tell him that, when you had acknowledged your own sexuality, it had scared you too. You wanted to tell him that you knew he was sorry. Instead what slips out from your mouth are the words: “You really hurt me you know you motherfucker.”

 

He visibly flinches at this but you continue, your mouth going on autopilot mode. If you were sad with John then with Dave, your anger seeps into your words.

 

“I should hit you for what you did to me.” You spit out. Dave flinches again and you want to stop but more and more of your hateful words are rushing out of you. “You insufferable annoying prick whose ego is bigger than his fucking head!” The words are coming out louder and you _fucking can’t stop_.

“Do you know how much I texted you?!” You yell. “Do you know how lonely I was?! You were my best _fucking_ friend and you just…just _fucking destroyed it because you were scared?!_ ”

 

You can see every expression of hurt cross Dave’s exposed face as you continue. If he was wearing his shades you know you would’ve thought that Dave was being apathetic about what you telling him. But despite seeing the hurt glaze his eyes as his mouth remains tight lipped and despite feeling like a horrible, terrible person, you _just can’t stop._

* * *

 

Luckily, John slaps you out of it. And by slapping you out of it, you meant literally slapping. His open palm hits your cheek with a loud and audible _SMACK_ sound.

 

There’s a deadly silence that overtakes your apartment. You cheek is stinging as John stares down at you with a furious look on his face and Dave looks at John in shock.

 

“Don’t _fucking_ yell at him like that!” he screams at you and suddenly you see the angry John who had confronted you in the library again. You see the John that stood up for his friends and his boyfriend. You see the John who is angry with _you_ again. He moves to stand in front of Dave. “How can you even think of yelling at him when you did the same exact stuff yourself you hypocrite! It’s not like you weren’t the only victim here Karkat!” He screams. “You hurt me too remember!?”

 

This time _you_ flinch, not just because of the tone of John’s voice but also the truth behind his words because he’s right, _you are a hypocrite._

* * *

 

There’s a silence that comes to rest in the apartment/battlefield as John stares at you, Dave stares at John, and you stare at John (the heat leaving you cheek as you do so.) The silence, no….the _tension_ is horrible and you can feel your body beginning to become rigid as the words you have said and the words John had said begin to solidify and become more _real._ Was it really you who had yelled at Dave? Dave who was just trying to apologize? Dave who had said _sorry_ to you? You cringe as a sudden realization of how awful you were begins to seep into you.

 

When you finally do speak up, you almost don’t recognize your defeated sounding voice as you say, “ _This was a bad idea_.”

 

You’re 90% sure you're voicing everyone’s opinion in the room when you say this because there’s too much hurt in everyone’s lives all caused by (to an extent) _you_ to let the three of you move past it. You feel your head drop a little and, taking a shaky breath, you tell it to the other two straight.

“I don’t think… _this_ ….was a good idea.” you say again because it wasn’t. Because it isn’t. You had yelled at Dave who had only wanted to apologize to you and, by doing so, you had destroyed whatever fragile ties you had fixed with John. You had gone and screwed it up again like you always did.

 

You squeeze your eyes shut before saying (in a most definitely defeated sounding voice) “Please leave.”

 

Maybe…maybe you were never meant to be their friends in the first place. You had only hurt them in the end and you would continue hurting them in the future. And even though you don’t actually want them to leave and you actually want them to stay because they were the two people in your life who you cared about the most outside of your family, you can’t trust yourself around them. If you were really their friends once upon a time then as their friend you should…. _You_ would let them go.

 

To your surprise though, they don’t leave.

* * *

 

You don’t know what happens but you suddenly find yourself being pulled from behind as Dave flash steps to pull you into a backwards embrace, his arms going around and trapping you against him. You let out a quick gasp and a pained (almost desperate) sounding “Don't!” as Dave crushes himself against you, as if he urgently needs to cover your entire body with his. You squirm but he only hugs you tighter and presses his face into your head. You flinch as you feel his lips accidentally press into your skull.

“Can I get some help John?” He says into your hair. Your face feels warm as his lips brushes against your head and you suddenly feel John, from the front, hugging you as well, his arms wrapping over your body as well.

 

(Your face _definitely_ feels warmer now.)

 

You squirm with all the strength your upper body can muster, but their grips are strong, suffocating, and oh so warm that you can’t do anything. After a minute of fruitless wiggling, you just stop and let them hug you.

 

And you would never admit it, but you fucking loved it.

* * *

 

“I’m sorry Karkitty.” Dave mutters into your head. “I’m so so _so_ fucking sorry.” His voice sounded broken and you think you can hear tears in his voice, yet his hold on you was still, bone crushingly, tight.

John hums in an agreement, his chest pressed flushed against your chest. “I didn’t mean to yell at you either Karkat.” He whispers to you. “I’m sorry too. Please don’t hate me.”

 

(You can’t help but sniffle a little because this situation was so romance novel stupid but you fucking love every moment of it. You close your eyes and tell the two that they were both ”fucking morons.”)

 

“I should be the one apologizing to your stupid asses.” you mutter. “I should be the one begging for your shitty excuses of forgiveness.”

They only hug you tighter and you can’t help but gasp a little as they do. You bury your face into John’s chest and mutter again and again, to both of them, “I’m sorry John. I’m sorry Dave. I’m so _fucking_ sorry.”

* * *

 

You don’t know how long the three of you stay like that.

 


	6. High School: Karkat, John, and Dave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for lateness, I'm in college again! My acting had like a million guys and four girls! But my only romantic interests are digital so I'm fucked!

Growing up, you had noticed that a common trope in romance novels was that the protagonist (usually female) would often awake forgetting what position she was in or what situation she had just escaped from and would yell “Right I forgot about that!” a good twenty sentences after she was _actually_ awake. That or she would wake up with her body being held and she would have an internal freak out before remembering that the guy spooning her was actually her lover/best friend/male companion and she would immediately relax. You had always detested these stupid set ups and tried your hardest to keep them from _your own_ writing, wanting to focus on the reality of love rather than the fictional bullshit that some writers, editors and publishers actually managed to get released to the general public. You knew the infamous “fluff novels” when you saw it and you refused to be part of the millions who fell into that universe of cliché-ness.

However, despite how much you abhorred these “Mary Sue like” plot points, you wished that you could, just for a second, forget what had happened between you and John and Dave because the “what had happened” had rolled around and around and around in your head even after they had left. In fact, you were convinced that they might had even stayed the whole night had it not been for Kankri and Cronus stumbling back into the apartment at around ten, the latter more than slightly tipsy and the former quickly going from giggling to looking uncomfortable when he saw that John and Dave were still chatting with you. To his credit though, Kankri had invited the two to sleepover and even offered to buy pizza for everyone (a treat that the two of you considered “special” due to the lack of it during your childhood) yet John and Dave both politely declined, with John saying that he had to get back to his dad and Dave rapping (nervously you might add) that his brother was back from college and he “had to get home so he could hear his knowledge.”

 

(John had snorted when he heard Dave rap that and you had punched Dave in the side for acting like an “idiotic dickbag.” If Kankri had looked surprised at your actions, he didn’t voice it out loud.)

 

Even though you were happy that you three had fixed some aspects of your relationship (it was still a work in progress, that much the three of you still knew) you couldn’t help but feel grateful that they were giving you some space to get acclimated and to soak the gravity of the situation all in (a sleepover, after all, was a _very_ big friendship step in your opinion.) However, the “what had happened” event had even seeped into your dreams, where it had twisted and turned like an abstract emotion that pushed and pulled the dream you along like a puppet until real the Karkat woke up and was forced to face the emotions in reality.  
  
You were happy and embarrassed and humiliated and confused and nervous and scared and overjoyed all at once and it was the most complicated set of feelings you think you had ever had to deal with in your short existence. The apologizing, the yelling, the shouting, the slapping, the make up, the hugging, the crying, all of those things echoed like a broken record in your brain and in your body and you could still feel the tightness of their arms around you as you cried into their shirts as you took in the morning sun streaming through your window. 

* * *

 

 

But more than just those memories registered to your awakened state. Unlike romance novels that could just cut away from those in between moments that seemingly meant nothing, real life continued on after the hugs and tears and real life was filled to the brim with those “nothing” moments.

After the hug, the three of you were (to say the least) embarrassed at what had just transpired (John had laughed nervously, Dave had begun talking non-stop in his rhymes, and you had bitten down on your bottom lip so many times that you could taste blood on it.) It was (so fucking) awkward but it was the type of awkwardness that one was (“ironically” in Dave’s opinion) okay with. It was the type of awkwardness that came from wanting to talk about everything and anything, but at the same time feeling confused as to how to even  _start_ talking about everything.

 

You can’t help but smile to yourself as you think about this and stumble into the kitchen, where you are greeted by the morning sight of a nagging Kankri trying to nurse back from the brink of hell a hung over Cronus. You choke back a laugh as Cronus groans out (in a more heavily accented voice than usual) which Kankri he was supposed to be giving gratitude kisses to if there were currently two in front of him like a set of “Fucking astrological Gemini.” Kankri sighs.

 

“You do realize that, even if I were to believe in astrological signs, I am actually a cancer and not a Gemini Cronus,” your brother says in an agitated tone of voice. “Furthermore-" Kankri is effectively cut off (and caught off guard) when Cronus launches himself at him and yells out “Caught ya-!” in a loud yet groggy sounding voice.

 

You can’t help but actually laugh out loud as you watch your brother’s face turn red.

* * *

  
  
“On the spot shit” (that’s what you used to call chatting with Dave and John) became easier now that you were actually willing to put yourself into the duos’ conversations. If Rose and Kanaya notice your change in attitude towards Dave and how you had become a little more comfortable with chatting with him _and_ John, they don’t comment on it (Rose does however wink at you when she notices you shoving Dave playfully during lunch after he made a “cat-astrophe” of a cat pun.) Of course there were still moments when you were quiet around them, but your flinching and tensing and your guarded facial expressions had become more relaxed as you began to actually interact with the two rather than just watch on.

 

You didn’t want to admit it but being with them (being with _him_ again) was really _really_ nice.

 

It was nice that you could act more like yourself around them again. One time, the three of you had spent the entire lunch period just arguing over shitty movies (it was actually just you and Dave shooting down every movie that John talked about) as Kanaya and Rose just watched on (sharing expressions of amusement.) Another time, you and John had spent the lunch period arguing over which weapon was cooler (you had said scythes and John had said hammers and Dave had refused to even partake in the debate as he claimed that “swords were the shit no matter how shitty they could be” and left it at that.)

But, as nice as it was, what you had been afraid of before the “event” was all coming true: John and Dave were fitting back into your life almost perfectly and you were letting them in.

 

(But what scared you even more was how ok you were with it happening.) 

* * *

 

December is when you begin to run into some problems.

The day had started like any other day: a few minutes of nervous conversation with Dave and John that only really began to get interesting two minutes before your classes started and a mad dash to your first period English class where Rose and Kanaya both politely smirked at you as you flew into your seat.

 

But English class was when things began going south.

 

Unsurprisingly and as usual, your English teacher assigns the next major writing assignment to everyone, telling you that the final submission was due the Friday of the last week of classes before winter break. Unsurprisingly and as usual you took said assignment and looked it over (noticing she had given the words “New Experiences” as this particular paper’s romance prompt.) Unsurprisingly and as usual, when the teacher told the class to create groups, you and Rose and Kanaya turned towards each other to discuss ideas.

 

But surprisingly, for the first time since September and since you entered Skaia High, your mind draws a horrifying _blank_.

 

You think and consider and ponder and even go so far as to squeeze your eyes shut and clench your hands into fists. But no matter how hard you tried to come up with _any_ idea, no matter how hard you tried to stimulate the creative side of your brain, your mind could think of absolutely _nothing to write about._ Not even a random, horribly crafted, cliché, bullshitty, romance trope inspired idea popped into your head.

 

(Absolutely nothing popped into your head.) 

* * *

 

“It’s just a minor case of writer’s block Karkat.” Kanaya tells you soothingly as you looked down at the first “C” you had ever gotten on a written romance piece. Your teacher had been close to tears as she handed it back and told you that, though the writing was unmistakably yours, it was so distant and befuddled that she had to check the name on the paper three times to make sure that it was really Karkat Vantas that had written the literary shit show. “The best of writers goes through this,” Kanaya added quickly. You think you see Rose nod in an agreement but you can only stare numbly at the big fat “C” on your romance-writing-Skaia-High-school career track.

“I wouldn’t worry too much if I were you…This _is_ only the first draft Karkat.” You hear Rose say. “You have plenty of time to revise and edit before the final paper is due.”

 

You groan and grip the miserable piece of literature even tighter in your hands. You want to hit yourself in the head with a rock or your laptop or anything hard but you know with your “moms” (cough Rose and Kanaya COUGH) present you couldn’t (or at least, they wouldn’t let you.) You despise the grade that glares up at you. The grade that you got because you couldn’t think about _shit_ to write about. The grade that you never _ever_ thought you’d get in a _fucking_ English class.

You rest your head on top of lunch table and groan miserably, mentally soaking in your horrible grade as Rose and Kanaya move the conversation to less “disturbing” topics. It’s not until Dave begins to pelt your exposed head with ketchup packets missiles that you look up again. His smirking face brings you back to reality and you _oh so politely_ kick him under the table. 

* * *

 

Your English professor actually _fucking calls you_ to stay behind when class is done the next day so she could “chat” with you about your writing.

You internally groan and watch sadly as Rose and Kanaya leave the classroom (knowing them they would probably be waiting right outside for you) before turning to face your gatekeeper of your personal writing hell.

 

Your English teacher smiles nervously.

 

“Well Mr. Vantas…” she begins, pulling on her hair. “Your recently written piece hasn’t been as...on par as your previous writings.”

An image of her close to tears from the day before flashes through your mind and you nod and grunt out a muted apology (feeling sorry that she had to read your failures.)

She sighs. “Is everything alright?” she asks concerned and you can practically see the desperation in her voice. “Are you having troubles of any kind? Is school becoming too stressful? I know around this time of year things get hard for students and sometimes everyday troubles can affect a writer.” Her hair pulling becomes more erratic as she asks if there was anyway at all she could do to help you in terms of “coping with stress or anxiety.”

You can’t help but take a step back, slightly surprised, and shake your head, telling her that, as of now, this was probably the most relaxed you think you felt in a long time (a shock that still bewilders you.) You watch her as bottom lip juts out and her forehead crinkle in confusion.

 

“Oh…. But…Are you sure everything’s okay?” she continues to press on. “Did anything bad happen? An argument with your siblings? A fight with your friends?”

 

Again, you have to shake your head because quite the contrary, you had made up with your friends and were slowly and surely fixing your relationship with them (you didn’t tell her this part and only responded with a blunt “Fu- No.”) Your professor’s look of confusion distorts her face even more and with another sigh, she gives you some words of encouragement before finally dismissing you.

 

It’s not until you successfully blocked a flying mustard packet attack from John and feel your lips pull up a little that something clicks into place and you feel what was pulling up on your lips suddenly curve down.

 

You couldn’t write because of _them_. 

* * *

 

You flip through all your stories, the ones from this year and the ones from years past, speed reading through all them. Some of them you cringe at for the clichés you had used, some of them you feel shocked that you even wrote (in a good way.) But in all of them, you remember the feelings you had had when you had written them.

You had felt confused and angry and had wanted to portray that in the character. You had wanted to get your own feelings down on paper. You wanted to transform those feelings into qualities that were both relevant and irrelevant to the plot. And you couldn’t help but notice, in more than one story you had written, that the main character was usually _getting over_ heartbreak. In fact, in the few of them where intimate love was actually _explained_ , it was always from an observer’s point of view rather than a first person point of view

 

You stare at the papers spread across the floor before lying on top of them in a miserable Karkat Vantas heap.

 

Your anger, your confusion, your sadness, your insecurities, those had been the major parts of your style of romance novel writings. Those were the emotions you had felt pump through you everyday of every week of every month.

At first, you had written as a way to get away from your father. The father who was never the one you and Kankri had wanted. The father who didn’t want you two as much as you two didn’t want him. He was what you hated and what you never wanted to become. He was the one who had planted the seeds of your negative emotions. Your father was the very match that had started your writing flame.

 

And yet…. and yet….

 

Your history with John and Dave had somehow become the _fuel_ to your carousel that powered your writing ability. They had always been on your mind as your wrote. Sad, angry, scared, insecure, lost, desperate, confused- _It all came from them._

 

And now…. _and now…_

 

Now those feelings had shrunk. They had become smaller. They were no longer what fueled you and you could no longer tap into them like you used to. It didn’t feel _right_ when you tapped into those emotions. It felt un- _you_ to tap into them now.

You groan and bring your knees up to hug against your chest, your heart-thumping out _achingly painful beats._

By fixing the relationship with your two ex-best friends and slowly bringing their friendship tiers back up,

 

You had lost something that had made you _you._

* * *

 

 

The rest of the week you can feel your horrible realization pulling you down like an anvil. Your feet drag from class to class and (more than once) the rest of your five-man/woman band ask you if everything was all right.

You could only nod and offer a ghost of a smile (that actually looked more of a psychopathic grimace than an actual human smile according to Dave) in response. You’re happy that they don’t press the issue and don’t see the need to bring up the cause of your sufferings (as they all thought you were just gloomy about your English grade rather than your actual writing abilities) and are grateful for their silent concern.

 

But in their own ways…. both John and Dave try to cheer you up.

* * *

 

 

The following Monday, Dave brings you a black coffee from the Starbucks near Skaia High.

 

You are, at first, confused as to why he even does this and ask, somewhat cautiously, what he had done with it (the coffee) or if he was blackmailing you (with the coffee).

 

“Ever the charmer huh Karkat?” Dave jokes, smirking slightly so that the left side of his lip twitches up a little. “Can’t even accept this cool guy’s free drink without making a blow to his insides with your metaphoric scythe. While you’re in there, why don’t you also carve out my hollow muscular organ and form it into one of those anime school doki doki hearts. Then you would have really ‘touched my heart’ and all that shit as those desperate teenage Youtubers say to adoring fans that are forty and still have yet to punch the V-card.” He says, still extending the coffee filled paper cup out towards you. You’re still a bit cautious to take it and ask again what Dave Strider induced puppet porn strings was attached to this Grande cup of Joe.

Dave coughs, hiding an obvious laugh. “No strings,” he says, raising his other hand in a “stop before you hit me” gesture. “The apple cider gods deemed today a bad day in the land of apple cider distribution so I decided to just get my favorite angry, shouty, short guy, that’s you by the way,” he throws in quickly, “A drink that will definitely get you to purr like an actual fucking kitty.”

 

He takes a quick breath (almost as if he was psyching himself up) before pushing the drink into your hands.

 

“Anyway…here Karkitty,” he says, this time a little more quietly. “Your very own version of the ‘Juice from the gods.’” You watch as he smiles, this time wide enough so you can see the beginning of the dimples on his left cheek. His face twitches a little in, what you think to be, a covered wink to you.

You can’t help but snort at his dorkiness and mutter a quick “Thanks,” deciding to just take the cup from his hands for the hell of it. But as your fingers brush against Dave’s cold ones, you (almost subconsciously) linger a little longer than normal against his.

 

(You think you imagined it, but you could’ve sworn Dave’s face become a little redder as you did so.) 

* * *

 

On Wednesday at lunch, John plops down next to you and hands you a brown paper lunch bag. When you asked him what the fuck it was, he just grinned and told you to “Open it and find out.”

 

You had honestly suspected a grass snake or some similar type of reptile to be in the bag as you opened it and you mentally brace yourself for a bite to the nose. But to your surprise, the bag is filled with homemade cookies.

“My dad and I finally tried out a new non-Betty Crocker inspired recipe,” John explains, before (almost shyly) adding on that he had remembered how much you enjoyed eating cookies at his house when you two were little. “I thought you might like to have some again so- Here you go!”

 

He smiles like a fool as he watches you carefully take one out and examine it (it _looks_ like a chocolate chip cookie) and giggles slightly when you go so far as to sniff it (it _smells_ like a chocolate chip cookie.) You glare at him when he does this.

“You didn’t put something gross in here did you?” You asked cautiously knowing too well that John’s pranking ability had been raised tier-folds since elementary school. “Like I’m not going to eat this and later find out that I ate a chocolate covered cockroach or something right?”

 

John looks offended and splutters out a “What? No! Gross!” to your question. “I baked these with my dad Karkat! The only ‘surprise’ you’ll find in this is probably a mini chocolate bar or something I swear!”

You stare John down, still feeling a bit skeptical. Maintaining constant eye contact with his blue eyes, you _slowly_ bite into the cookie in your hand (for some reason, John’s face seems to turn a bit pink as you do this), mentally refusing to give any sense of enjoyment away. But as the flavor spreads through your mouth, you can’t help but moan slightly as you chew because _damn the cookie was delicious._

 

(Across from you, Dave chokes on his apple juice but you ignore it.)

 

You look at John with a changed expression of satisfaction and tell him that this was the “best fucking thing you had ever put in your mouth in your entire life.” You take another bite as an additional “Mmm…” slips from your mouth.

 

(For some reason again, Dave chokes on his juice and, though you think you just imagined it, John’s face become even more flushed after you complemented him.) 

* * *

 

On Friday you open your locker only for at least _fifty_ purple roses to pour out of it. You take a step (more of a leap now that you think about it) back in shock and feel your face become a little flushed when you get a couple of “Aww’s” from students passing by.

“My my, and whom was it that did this for you Karkat?” Rose teases as she watches you quickly scramble to pick up the roses from the small pile they had created at your feet. “Does someone have a secret admirer?” she asks sweetly and in false innocence.

 

You splutter a little and yell, “Fuck no!” as you wrestle the purple flower mountain into your arms. Rose (the actual girl and not the flower) bends down and picks up a card from the ground that had fallen out with the roses (the flowers not the girl.) Her smile seems to widen and she mutters to herself “Ah, that’s why,” before placing the card in your already filled hands.

 

“This might prove to _clarify_ some things for you.” is all she says before walking down and abandoning you with your roses (still the flowers, not the girl.)

When you finally manage to struggle the purple flowers into some form of a concise bouquet and actually read the fucking card, the hall was pretty much empty of students. You were grateful for this because, when you read the card, your face had never felt hotter.

 

It’s a card John and Dave.

 

(When you asked Rose later if she had known about the “flower explosion surprise” that was planted in your locker, she had simply stated that she had “Picked out the color,” and that she hoped you understood the “Language of the flowers” to fully appreciate the choice in purple roses. You would later attempt to search up the meaning of “purple roses” only for the internet to die in your apartment and with it, whatever curiosity about “purple roses” you had had.)

* * *

 

That same Friday (four hours into the future) finds you staring at your romance (horror) story on you laptop at the kitchen table with your head squished between your two palms in an attempt to squeeze any remaining ounce of creativity out of your pitiful excuse for a brain. Unsurprisingly, this doesn’t work and your continued staring contest with your computer screen continues for hours.

It’s only when someone slams your laptop close that you look up and nearly fall out of your chair in surprise. Across the table, Cronus looks at you with a concerned expression. A concerned expression that (to your knowledge) you had been getting from him from the corner of your eye for the past couple of nights.

You can’t help but glare at him, feeling annoyed that he had broken what little concentration you had been working with, and tell him to get his fucking hands off your laptop and shouldn’t he be out making out with your brother because it was a fucking Friday night?

Cronus rolls his eyes at this and tells you that it was technically Saturday morning and that when he left the apartment hours ago (“Alone” he added as Kankri was apparently getting some well deserved sleep) you had been in the exact same position now as you were then. He also adds (after giving your face a once over) that your eyes were much redder now than when he had last seen them.

 

In response to this, you try to intensify your glare (if that was even humanely possible) and tell him to (again) fuck off and try to pull the laptop from under his hands. Instead, the laptop (your laptop) is pulled further away from you and into Cronus’ own arms.

 

A tense, almost face-off like moment happens as quietly as possible (as the last time you two had argued loudly it had ended in a lecture from Kankri and a massive joint chore list to help “boost your communication skills.”) as the both of you try to stare each other down like wrestles in a rink or wolves in the wild. For what feels like several tense minutes, neither of you moves as you wait for the other to back down. It’s only when the clock dings softly (alerting it’s listeners to the change in the hour) that Cronus finally sighs and releases the tension from his shoulder blades.

 

“I don’t wanna wake up Kan.” is all he says before reaching over to ruffle your hair (his other arm still clutching _your_ laptop to his chest.) “Why don’t we go out for a little?”

You give him a confused look, glancing at the clock on the wall and tell him that it was one in the (apparently) fucking Saturday morning and where the hell would the two of you even go?

 

He just smirks and (still holding your laptop) walks towards the door. “Insomnia’s open till three.” is all he says. 

* * *

 

Besides a couple of tipsy teenagers, the Insomnia Cookie store is pretty much empty. You and Cronus munch on chocolate chip cookies in silence, listening to the teenagers’ drunken rendition of “It’s a Small World” mashed up with “Shake It Off” (it was one of the worse mash ups you had ever heard in your entire life. It’s even worse than the time when Dave had remixed a Snoop Dogg rap to the tune of “Mambo No. 5.”) The taste of sweet chocolate invades your mouth and (though not as good as the homemade ones John had given you) you begrudgingly tell Cronus that maybe you kinda sorta did really need a break after all those hours. He laughs a little and you take another bite of your cookie (which still wasn’t as good as John’s but was still good you guess.)

It’s not until after he’s done eating that Cronus, with wipe of his mouth with the back of his hands, finally speaks.

 

“When Kan and I first began going out, I couldn’t make up a new song for weeks.” he says bluntly.

 

You can tell you look surprised because Cronus, in response to your shocked expression, continues on. “Before Kan, my music was all teenage angst and over emotional crap.” He explains. “ I mean, they were shit for sure but it was the shit I liked because I felt like it ...came from me.” He hesitates and you watch as he wipes some remaining chocolate smudges off of his fingers onto a napkin, clearly stalling for time, before he begins again.

“I had or well…. _have_ I guess…a baby brother….” he confesses, his eyes softening. “Kinda a jerk like you can be sometimes,” (You glare at him when he says this) “Except with less cursing and with a superior complex that would put Kankri to shame.” (You can’t help but stop glaring and let out a snort of laughter when says that) “He was annoying as hell but he was still my brother ya know?” You give a slow nod and Cronus continues.

 

“When my parents got divorced, I went with my Pops while Eridan, my brother, he went with Ma.” His voice shakes a bit as he says this, as if remembering it as he told you. “We said we’d stay in touch and stay a family and all but...” This time he gulps a little and you watch as his Adam’s apple moves up and down in nernousness. “…Remember this was the time when cellphones were shit and our parents only had one computer in the house so....”

 

He stops again and runs a hand through his hair (definitely more nervously.) Looking straight at him, you can’t help but wonder what’s going in Cronus’ mind as he confesses _his story to you_. A story that, you can assume, he had only told Kankri before.

When he finally speaks again, it’s a lot quieter than you had expected (you even have to lean in a little.) “One day, he and my Ma just went MIA… No letters, no messages, no nothing.” His voice shakes and he laughs, as if trying to lighten the mood for himself (however it comes out as more of a choked gasp for air.) “Hell I don’t even know if they’re even still in the country.”

 

He tries for a smile when he says this but it comes out so sad looking that you can’t help but wonder _how much pain he had been through_ to make him want to make light of such a heavy conversation. “I mean, I never liked my Ma that much but Eridan…. He became what I wrote songs about.” 

Cronus pauses and you can see him take a shaky breath before continuing and you realize that, in his own way, he was just as broken as you and Kanrki were.

 

“After I began going out with Kankri though I felt…. really happy.” he says. “I mean, he probably told you all of this but Kan didn’t want to go out with me for a long time so when he finally said yes I just…. I just felt really happy.” He frowns. 

“But after that….” he stops and takes another breath. “After that I couldn’t really…. connect anymore to my old music. Everything I wrote didn’t feel…‘right’ ya know?” He looks up at you nervously. “You understand what I’m telling you right Chief Jr.?” 

* * *

 

Your breath hitches a little as you meet his sad, bright eyes. You stare at them for a tense twenty seconds or so before you quickly nod _yes_. Yes, you did understand. Yes, you do understand.

What he had just voiced was exactly what you had been _internally stressing over_. The realization shocks you to your core because you had thought that _no one would understand what you were going through at all._ You had thought that you were alone in your theories and impressions and this was your problem and your problem alone. You had thought you had lost your direction in life by gaining something good. But now, looking across at your brother’s boyfriend, you realize that the Cronus you had always thought to be an emotional support for Kankri, the Cronus who you had thought came from a “normal” life, was actually as _breakable as you were in his own way._

 

You bite your bottom lip nervously (tasting some leftover chocolate on them) and ask hesitantly if that ‘right’ feeling had ever come back to him. No, it _must’ve_ come back to him because he was majoring in music now! He was still creating music and singing songs _now so it must’ve come back!_

Your desperation seeps into your voice a little but your need for an answer outweighs your desire to appear like an eleventh grade so you give Cronus what must be a ridiculous child-like look and ask him again what he had done. He smiles an actual non-forced smile the first time since you two entered Insomnia.

 

“In the beginning, I thought it would never feel ‘right’ again,” he admits. “But after I stopped comparing myself to...well... _past_ me, I thought ‘If everything I make now is gonna be pretty shitty anyway, might as well try something new.’” He pauses again and it takes you a few moments to process how ridiculously simple his notion sounded out loud yet how hard it was to mentally submit to.

“You still got time Karkat,” he says in a calm voice, recognizing your internal struggle to acknowledge something so _uncharacteristically uncomplicated_. “And you’ve been through a hella of a lot shit for someone your age.” He ruffles your hair again. “You’ll pull through this.”

 

(You can’t help but smile at him when he says this.)

* * *

 

On Sunday your usual lunch group decides to meet up at Rose’s house to watch and critique/criticize/make fun of/cry over a movie of one your group member’s choice (this time it was John’s so everyone’s expectation was very _very_ low and would be more on the make fun/criticize/critique side of the movie commentary spectrum.)

As the others chat around you, though you can’t help but nervously grip your hands together because, after the talk with Cronus and after hours of brainstorming, your thoughts on what to do about your “writing deficiency” problem had finally yielded an idea in your brain. An idea that, if you decided to go along with, would change your way of writing for better or worse. An idea that would (literally) take a new perspective in your romance novel repertoire. You had been simultaneously raising up and shooting down the idea ever since it had entered your think pan the previous day because, as horrible as the idea might potentially be, it was the type of idea that you would never know if it was good or bad unless you executed it.

 

(And, after what Cronus had told you, if no matter what you did was going to shitty, you might as well try something new right?)

 

So, as the other four members of your group snuggled up against each other on the couch comfortably, with Rose leaning on Kanaya’s shoulder (which reminded you of Kankri and Cronus) and Dave giving John an ironic bro/couple hug (that was both adorable and a bit embarrassing to look at) you cleared your throat and decide to ask your seemingly dangerous (or actually dangerous) question idea, reminding yourself over and over again that this was for your writing and that if you wanted to break through your funk you were just going to have to say _“To fucking hell with it!”_

Rose’s head raises a little as she recognizes your desire to speak and quickly asks you what was it that you needed (lest your confidence dies down.) And (although its a bit embarrassing now that both John and Dave were also looking up at you from their ironically-homosexual romantic couple hug) you mentally remind yourself again that this was for your writing before asking, in as calm a voice as you could muster,

 

“What did it feel like when you two first fell in love with each other?”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess before I wrote this particular chapter I wanted it to be 'KARKAT JOHN DAVE FLUFFFFFFFFFFFFF" but then I remembered that this is more than just the three's story (I mean technically it is) but it's also Karkat's story. So....yeah....
> 
> (P.S. original chapter had movie dick grabbing by accident.)


	7. High School: John and Karkat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait

It’s no surprise that they look at you with shared expressions of dumbfounded-ness so you quickly elaborate, telling them that since you were stuck in a romance-writing slump, you decided to just fuck it and try something new. And that something new had more to do with the physical emotions that went through people’s heads when they were dating and shit rather then your usual “just observing/getting over a heartbreak” perspective. Your face burns ever so slightly and your breathless by the time you finished your “elaborating.” You also have to mentally repeat to yourself that this was your idea in the first place and that you were going to own up to it even if it killed you.

(Still, a part of you hopes that your thundering heart won’t suddenly spontaneously combust in your chest on account of how fast it’s going.)

 

It’s silent for a long time (no surprise there) before Kanaya asks if you were asking her and Rose or Dave and John this “romantic research question.” You huff slightly and shrug. “Both I guess,” you mumble, standing your ground despite feeling embarrassed. (Have you mentioned you feel embarrassed or was that always just a given?)

Rose and Kanaya look at each other, as if trying to use their annoying dating telekinesis to see if you were serious about what you had just asked or if this was a feeble attempt of yours to express your heart yet keep it hidden at the same time. (Something that Kanaya had told you that you did and probably had done in the entirety of your short lifetime. When you asked her to explain though, she only smiled.) Rose tosses her hair over her shoulder and looks back to you.

 

“Well since you asked _so nicely_.” She says, her lips curling a little (whether or not she's laughing at you or remembering her time with past-Kanaya you don't know.) “It all started when a lovely tall creature volunteered to be my subject while I was conducting a…. _physiological_ experiment of sorts.”

 

Kanaya clicks her tongue slightly. “Now Rose darling I don’t think that’s how it happened. If I remember correctly, _you_ were the one who approached _me_ first.”

 

“Did I?” Rose says in an obvious mocking yet teasing tone. “I seem to have forgotten that tidbit.”

 

There’s an almost half hearted fight (more of a flick in the nose and another giggle) between the two and you can’t help but feel slightly disappointed that their version of a real life “love story” was so… _simple._

 

(Or maybe you were just jealous of how _simple_ it was.)

 

“That’s it?” you ask, trying not to sound too disappointed (or jealous.)

 

“Of course not.” Rose says. “But if I were to tell you the whole story we would be here for the next few days and I know for a fact that Dave forgot to bring his pajamas.”

Dave mumbles something about how he could just sleep in the “Au natural of the human body,” to which you, Kanaya, and even John all say, “Please don’t.” Dave just shrugs and says something about how the “Room wouldn’t be able to handle all that hotness anyway.” You share a look with John and he (upon receiving your mental message) goes to slam Dave’s head with a pillow. You can’t help but laugh at how Dave’s glasses become tilted on his face after said pillow-face-slapping.

“So there’s more?” you ask, ignoring how John continues to nail Dave with a pillow. Your eyes flicker to them every few seconds or so (they had since went from “couch sitting” to “floor fighting”) but you remained focused on your other two friends best you could.

 

“Yes.” is all Rose says, giving you a look that you have come to determine as the “If-you-want-to-know-more-then-you’ll-have-to-elaborate-more-and-embarrass-yourself-more” look. You hate that look but you are, unfortunately, curious to know more.

“So…was it a case of love at first sight then?” you ask (choosing your words carefully.) The two of them just smile at each other and, judging by their shared “soft-glowing smiley” look, you can tell it was a case of love at first sight. This time, you really do feel a pang of jealously course through your inner organs. (The universe just seemed to hate you didn’t it? Couldn’t even give you a straightforward love story couldn't it? Nope, your love story had to be filled with loops and curves and too late realizations of attractions towards the same sex.)

 

(This was why you preferred romance novels as opposed to real life love.)

 

As much as you wanted Rose to continue the story (or actually tell you the whole fucking story rather than leave it up to your imagination), you also have to ask the other two idiots about their…experiences. Said other two idiots were now in a full-fledged pillow battle (complete with pillow shields) and it’s a miracle that they haven’t broken anything yet. (You mentally hoped hadn’t just jinxed it.)

 

Just before Dave’s about to rain pillow Armageddon on John’s head, you quickly ask, “What about you two?”

 

* * *

 

It's silent again as Dave, concentration broken, turns to face you. John, who had raised his arm (that was supposed to protect him from pillow Armageddon) lowers it slightly to also look at you. Surprisingly (or maybe not considering his advanced degree in “annoying nervous rambling”) Dave speaks up first.

“Well Karkitty there’s a difference between the two things you just asked ‘cause Johnny boy here wasn’t the first one who knocked my metaphoric straight boy pants off and turned me into a ranging bisexual.”

 

You expect John to look hurt when Dave says this but to your surprise, John nods as if he’s actually _agreeing_ with Dave. Almost as if to say that he too was not hit with the “I-like-boys!” wave when he had first met Dave.

 

You’re also a bit surprised at the fact that Dave just told you. “You’re bi?” you ask. You had always assumed he went from homophobic to homo-only.

 

Dave grins a little and nods. “Yup. Went from straight to bi-curious to bi-actual in the course of three years.” he says. Your mind can’t help but make the quick connection that those three years he was referring to was the three years he was Skaia, and for those same three years you were probably rotting in a dumpster or being slammed into a locker. A slight cringe goes across you shoulders (you hope they didn’t notice) and you can’t help but scrunch your face a little as the memories replay, for a split second, across your mind. The grin on Dave’s face suddenly vanishes and you immediately tell those bad memories to go fuck themselves and quickly nod in an “I see” manner.

“So you two fell in…. I-in love after you started…. dating?” you asked to which John responds with a “Who says we’re not still falling in love?” The girls immediately “Aww” and throw teasing looks of amore towards Dave. In noticeably embarrassed retaliation, Dave whaps John with a powerful pillow body slam (you can’t help but observe that his ear tips are slightly red as he does so) and mutters that he’s “Done with this prissy bullshit” and this was supposed to be movie night and not “Embarrass the cool kid” night. John just continues grinning, flicks on the TV, and the five of you all crowd together, the atmosphere less tense then it had just been (although Dave is still refusing to look at any of you and is doing that “I’m-a-big-boy-and-big-boys-don’t-get-embarrassed” pout.)

 

But…. You can’t help feeling a bit disappointed because, in the end, you didn’t exactly get a straight answer from _anyone_.

 

* * *

 

“Can I talk to you?”

 

You look up from you science homework (you had gotten to the point where you had to do _science_ homework to keep your mind off your English paper. Oh how the mighty had fallen) to tell Kankri that he was basically talking to you now and if that’s all he wanted to say then he could go on his merry fucking way. Your brother’s lips tilt down a little at the use of your language and you can practically see the lecture on his lips. You mentally brace yourself for the #triggerwarning speech that was about to be spoken but, to your surprise, your brother _deflates_ a little. That slightly worries you.

 

(It also tells you that this was going to be one of _those_ talks.)

 

You immediately give him your undivided attention (you just put your pencil down) and ask him what it was he wanted to say. You even going so far as to not say the word “fuck” when you ask him.

Kankri looks nervous as he runs his hand through his hair (messing it up to the point that it looks like one of those wild, uncut shrubbery) and he remains silent. You can see his anxiousness on his face and it even makes you begin to feel a bit anxious too. The two of you spend at least a full minute just glancing around (actually it was just Kankri who was glancing around. You on the other hand had been staring him down like a cat with its eye on a treat) when your brother finally says, in a rushed voice,

 

“IwasthinkingofpossiblyproposingtoCronusinthecomingnewyear.”

 

It takes you a few seconds to mentally sort through the run on of a sentence Kankri just spluttered out and when your brain finally does process it, you can’t help but say,

 

“What?”

 

Your brother takes a deep breath and repeats himself. “I was thinking of possibly…proposing to Cronus next year.” he says again. “Maybe.” he adds quickly.

He finally looks at you and you can see he’s blushing as he waits for your response (turning that cherry red that Vantas’ were unfortunately well known for.) You stare dumbfounded at him as the words _“propose”_ echoes through your head. A small part of you had always thought your brother would be the one to get proposed to and not the other way around. But now, watching as he blushes with that defiant “I’m serious” look in his eyes, you feel a bit proud of Kankri.

 

After a few more seconds of (stunned) silence you let a fraction of the grin you were keeping within yourself slip out.

 

“I’m so fucking planning your wedding.” is all you say as you go back to your science homework (totally not trying to hide the wide grin that was spreading across your face.)

 

You hear Kankri breathe a sigh of relief and you can’t help but ask, in a slightly mocking/teasing/brotherly voice, if he was thinking of wearing a short or long wedding dress. You expect your brother to tell you to “Not be ridiculous,” but Kankri surprises you by retorting that if he wore a wedding dress, you would be “So wearing a bridesmaid dress.”

 

Your brother’s boyfriend was certainly rubbing off on your brother.

 

(You can’t help but mentally think that they would make a good married couple.)

* * *

 

“You need a break.” Is what John tells you on the Wednesday approximately the week before your stupid-love-disaster-of-a-story-that-is-currently-driving-you-crazy is due. You glare at him and tell him he needs to shut up and go away.

It’s been three days since the (what you now deemed) failed “love confession story time” and your mind is still filled with nothing. You had gone so far as to ask the teacher for an extension and she had instead “encouraged” you try and push through. (You hadn’t realized you had broken your pencil until Rose had asked why your hand was bleeding at lunch. It was now after school and you had been ordered not to take the bandage off until tomorrow by your “moms.”) John sighs and sits down next to you on the bench you’re currently situated at. The burning feeling of the laptop had been warming you lap for the past thirty minutes because you had (again) missed the stupid bus.

 

“Where’s Dave?” you ask, gaze still on the screen. You think you hear John say something about Dave’s brother picking him up and you can’t help but smile a little because you remember how weird Dave’s brother was.

 

“Does Dirk still he drive that orange car?” you ask. John giggles.

 

“Rainbow Dash the Orange? Yup!”

 

You actually laugh out loud when you hear this because that car had been old when you were just a middle schooler and to know it was still alive and running was a miracle in itself. You chuckle as you go back to your typing. You had been stuck on the same sentence for the past twenty minutes and there was no way you were dropping that sentence from your story because it was essential to the plot (somehow.) It’s silent from John’s end as your fingers tip-tack away on your shitty laptop. It’s a comforting silence, but it only lasts for an additional five minutes (you had been glancing at your digital laptop clock) when John speaks up again.

 

“It started out as an experiment.” He says. Your type writing stops. You look up at John…. but he’s not looking at you. “Me and Dave…. Dave and I…. we were both kinda confused and hung up on our past crush-I mean, crushes…. so we decided to just try dating.”

 

You close your laptop and lean forward a little. Trying to keep the excitement (or nervousness) out of your voice, you ask John to continue. He chuckles (definitely out of nervousness) and fiddles with his glasses a little.

 

“I mean don’t get me wrong, Dave and I were friends at first so it wasn’t just like a ‘3, 2, 1 and date!’ scenario. It was like a “I like you enough to give it a try’ scenario.”

 

He stops again, and you can’t help but lean in a little more (You are now closer to John’s face than you have been in _years_ ) and ask again what it felt like, when did he first realize it, what was their first date like, did they kiss on that date, how long had they been going out, had they ever had a stupid fight before and if they did what kind of stupid, idiotic, backwards ass fight was it and did it have to do with-?

 

“Geez Karkat!” John suddenly says, overwhelmed by your questions (which you had admittedly been shooting at him in a quick fire sequence.) He turns his head to face yours and-

 

Wow…You didn’t realize you had been _that_ close.

 

It seems like John didn’t realize it either because he just kinda _freezes_ as he looks at you. Your eyes blink in rapid succession several times before you slowly pull yourself back (mentally berating yourself for fucking up.) You take a slow breath (more so to calm your beating heart than to get your breath back) and ask more slowly (and this time looking at the floor) when he first realized he was in love with Dave.

A realization of how weird the question feels on your tongue passes through your mind, like you were instead asking to define the color “blue,” but you ignore it for the sake of your research (and maybe just plain curiosity.)

 

John doesn’t reply for a while but when he does you have to make sure your gaze is still on the ground.

 

“Dave already told you he was like...in love with someone else before me. I guess I’m kinda the same.” He laughs but it’s more of a bitter, laughing at a horrible joke, laugh than a happy laugh. “Gosh it’s weird talking to you about this.” he says. 

You’re about to ask what he means by that but your cellphone chooses right then and there to vibrate, alerting you that your ride (cough Brother’s-boyfriend-probably-fiancé-in-the-upcoming-months COUGH) had arrived on the premises. You sigh and (finally) look back at John.

 

“We aren’t done fucking talking about this.” You say, emphasizing your point by jabbing a finger into his chest. To your surprise, John concaves in where you had poked him. It’s a slightly unsettling action but you don’t question it as you turn around and leave.

 

It’s only when you buckled up and have greeted Cronus with a “School was fucking fine,” that John comes running after you and begins to pound on the window yelling “Karkat! Karkat! Karkat! Karkat!”

 

(You mentally thank god Cronus hadn’t speed off from the school like he usually did because if he had, John might have been a John shaped stain on the pavement.)

 

Confused, you roll down the window to ask what the fuck was wrong with him only for John to stick his head close to yours (again) and pretty much yell in your face,

 

“Let’s go out on a date!”

* * *

 

Your brain short circuits and all you can do is stare stupidly at John in what you are guessing is your “I’ve-just-been-pushed-into-some-metaphorically-shitty-experience-my-god-what-the-actual-fuck” face.

It’s quiet, sans the running of the car’s motor and the slightly rushed breath of John. It’s also hella confusing and you have no idea what the fuck is going through John’s brain to make him say something as horribly said as the statment (question?) he just said (asked?)

 

Your throat makes a slight chocking noise and the words “But your dating Dave-” somehow tumble out of your mouth.

 

“He’ll understand.” John says quickly, as if he had not even thought about what you had just said. He looks at you with wide (very blue) eyes and says in a slightly begging voice, “Come on Karkat _please_?”

 

You’re brain is still not working and another chocked, unprocessed, “What?” escapes you. “Why the fuck-?”

 

“One date.” John says. “It doesn’t have to mean anything but if you want to know how it felt like when I fell in love with Dave I’ll show you. Just _one date_.”

 

You’re about to say (yell really) that that was the most brain twisted, backwards, fucking ridiculous thought in the entire world and/or universe…. but your mouth is still gaping like a fish in an aquarium and you can only let out a “Uhh…?” in response.

 

John, for whatever reason, takes that convoluted sound as a fucking “ _yes_ ” of all things (or at least a not “no”) and breaks out in a grin.

 

“We’ll go after school on Friday!” John says, smiling (his face slightly red for some fucking reason.) He takes a step backwards, gives a wave, and then saunters away (almost as quickly as he had came.) Your shocked gaze follows him (John) and you think you can feel Cronus tapping your shoulder and asking you if you were okay…. But your mind is still stuck in an endless loop of, _“I think John just asked me out.”_ and _“I think I’m going out on a date with John.”_

Your mouth is still hanging slightly open when you arrive back home and you thank all miraculous stars above that Cronus (for some godforsaken reason of luckiness) does _not_ mention _anything_ to Kankri.

* * *

 

You’re expecting Dave to beat the living crap out of you with his shitty sword on the following Thursday morning (which was totally not why you had chosen to wear extra sweaters as a defensive shield over your body.)

(That was a lie. That’s totally why your wearing Kankri’s sweater on top of your own. If you look like a walking red velvet cake, at least you had good reason to because Dave might split you open for accidently, unintentionally, _flirting_ with his boyfriend.)

 

You peer nervously at the table you usually meet John and Dave at and-Yes you can see them. Just sitting there like it was a completely normal Thursday and the whole world was still turning at an axis. You can’t help but feel a bit surprised when you see that Dave doesn’t have his sword with him though. A thought of “ _He must be hiding it in his pants_ ” passes through your mind as you wonder whether or not you should approach the table that your friends (they were still your friends right?) were sitting at. From where you’re standing it looked as if they were scribbling shitty cartoons together in John’s notebook (or more dick pictures, knowing Dave.)

You watch (spy) on them for an additional few minutes (ten minutes) before Dave looks up and spots _you_. You can’t help but hate yourself for knowing he’s spotted you because of the way his shoulders relax a little. You mentally hope that maybe you were wrong and that Dave isn’t looking at you from behind his shades.

 

He then waves to you (he’s definitely saw you.)

 

You take a deep breath and walk over, (ignoring the “You look like an angry red fire hydrant Karkitty,” comment from Dave) asking what kind of shitty dick drawings Dave was now defacing over John’s s notebook. (The back pages of your own English notebook were covered in red and pink dick drawings that you do NOT laugh at every time you saw them.)

 

Dave chuckles. “As honoring as it is to know how much you get me Karkitty,” he says, lowering his shades to peer at you with red eyes. “We’re actually writing up plans for your big date with Eggy here tomorrow.”

* * *

 

If you had been drinking something you would have spit take-d all over Dave’s face after he said _that_.

 

“W-what?!” you ask, your face scrunching up (and probably turning red.) “The fuck- Strider don’t word it like that!”

 

Dave just raises his hands in defense. “Hey if Johnny boy here wants to take the kitty out for a spin that’s fine by me. Just let me Cosmopolitan magazine plan the date for you two. You know, add some rose petals there, light a couple candles here, get the Valentine’s Day candy I’ve been stashing in my closet out. While I’m at it, I might as well give you a manual that says ‘How To French Kiss for Dummies.’ Wait, maybe not. Forget I said that. John and I didn’t get to base one point five till our sixth date and that was an experience in itself. John remember-”

 

Though he lacks a pillow, John’s hand does an equally great job of shutting Dave up when placed over said idiot’s mouth.

 

You’re still pretty much frozen to the spot and another strained, “Fuck?” escapes you (it’s posed more as a question than a statement.) The two just laugh at you and you don’t know whether you should feel angry or embarrassed as they laugh (at you.)

 

(You didn’t know if you imagined it or not…. But you think you saw a look pass between Dave and John after they finished their idiotic mouth chortles.)

 

(Like a _look_ look.)

* * *

 

Your mind is still spinning throughout the day as Dave fucking _plans_ the whole of your and John’s _date_. You honestly don’t know what you should feel more shocked at: the fact that John is taking you out and had even worded it as a fucking _date,_ or that Dave is weirdly (emphasis on the word _weirdly_ ) okay with it. You thought (no, you were sure) it was just an extended ironic-practical-John-Dave joke and come lunchtime they would drop. (They had to drop it right? This honestly wasn’t good for your heart.)

 

(Not that your rapid heartbeat means you’re nervous or, heaven forbid, _excited_. It just meant you were confused…You think.)

 

But they’re (surprisingly) still at it lunch and- _Oh god they even dragged Rose and Kanaya into it too._

* * *

 

“How about dinner at the pier? I heard that it has an ‘ironically romantic’ candlelight atmosphere.” Rose suggests, ignoring your cry of “Cut the crap Rose! There’s no fucking way I’m going somewhere that fucking vanilla!” You can see Kanaya about to pitch in an idea of her own so you try to stare her down with your best “If-you-say-one-fucking-word-I-will-name-my-next-villian-in-my-next-love-story-Kanaya-!” She notices and luckily, unlike Rose, she closes her mouth hole. Dave however does not.

“Nah no dinner dates this time. I don’t think Karkitty can take it. Look, he’s turning red just thinking about it.” Dave says, the left side of his mouth tilting up a little as he looks at you. He’s unfortunately not lying. Your face _feels_ red right now and you hate that your face feels/is red and is completely noticeable as a red. You quickly kick Dave under the table and you throw a smirk of your own as he winces.

 

“Then how about a movie date?” Rose suggests as Dave continual to reel in pain (because you kinda nailed him hard on his shin area and you’re sure that it’s going to leave a bruise a size of Texas on his fucking perfect skin.) “Didn’t the first date you and John went on to the movie theater?”

 

“Yeah.” Dave says, his body shifting as he goes to rub the (definitely purple) bruise forming on his leg. “That’s where I first found out that John has the worst taste in movies in the world. Not even the world, like the entire fucking galaxy. Hell, he’s got a worse-r case of ‘bad movie syndrome’ than Karkat at a teen flick preview night extravaganza.”

 

John shoves Dave with his shoulder (lightly though.) “Dude I’m sitting right here you know.” he says.

 

“So is Rose and Kanaya and Karkitty but you don’t see them complaining.” Dave quips back. John retaliates this time by slamming his shoulder into Dave hard enough to at least push the other off his lunch table-sitting rump.

 

(You can’t help but laugh out loud as Dave, ass on the ground, fucking pouts again.)

* * *

 

By the end of the day at least the dizzying, weird, spinning feeling in your stomach has dissipated, but your head still aches with the questions of _“What is going on?” “Why is this happening?” “Why is Dave okay with this?”_

 

As you walk John and Dave to their red Prius (they had offered to drive you but you had politely declined. And by politely you had said “If I spend any more time with you dick munchers I fear that my brain capacity will contract by fifty percent.” To which John had responded with an “Aww, love you too Karkat!” and Dave had only grinned) you can’t help but keep glancing at Dave, trying to read his (at this moment) unreadable expression. The question of _“Why?”_ pounds in your head and, in a moment of courage, after John gets in the car, you quickly reach out and grab Dave’s coat sleeve before he gets in.

He turns to you. “Sup Karkitty? Need some advice from the great Dave Strider before he takes off in a flaming red chariot with the nerd boy from the planet Egbert?” he asks, his breath stuttering a bit in embarrassment (you think.)

You hesitate, biting down on your bottom lip (Strider’s Adam’s apple bobs a little as he watches you) before you ask him at least one of the questions that had been attacking your think pan.

 

“Why are you okay with John going on a...a...” your breath hitches when you say the last part very quickly, “Date with me?”

 

(It’s the first time you actually acknowledged it as a date.)

 

There’s no reaction out of Dave and you retract your hand (slowly) from his sleeve. It’s silent and you can tell from the lack of music that John had turned the radio off and is probably eavesdropping on your and Dave’s conversation (to which he had every right to because _hell this is his boyfriend your talking to_ ) as you wait patiently for Dave to say something.

 

But when Dave finally does say something, it’s a response you would have not expected to be said hundred million years (or life times.)

 

“Would you rather go on a date with me Karkat?”

* * *

 

Your eyes widen and that weird constructing feeling is back in your chest and is currently clogging up your throat as you spluttered out a “Fuck?” (Again, said more like a question than a statement.)

Dave however has that serious, one-hundred-percent-not-ironically-and-or-joking-look on his face and for a second you can feel all the blood in your head rushing to your feet.

 

Then Dave Strider _fucking smiles_.

 

“Saturday at seven. I’ll pick you up.” is all he says before he gets in the car. With a wave from a (laughing) John, the two drive away.

 

And you are left standing shell shocked in the parking lot.

* * *

 

It’s on the fifteenth head slam into the table the Kankri finally holds you back and asks what in the world is going on with you and why you felt the need to destroy the millions of brain cells in your cerebrum.

 

“John-fucking-Egbert and Dave-fucking-Strider.” You say and proceed to hit your head two more times before being pulled back again by a (confused) Kankri.

 

“I thought you fixed everything with them.” Kankri says, his voice a bit shaky (Shit, maybe you hit your head one-too-many times.) You groan out loud before going to voice your current misery, complaining that now everything was so fucking weird and annoying and you were being sent spiraling down into a twisted version of emotional hell.

“I just had to open my mouth and ask them about love and shit.” You whine, “Fuck writer’s block! Fuck John! Fuck Dave! Fuck my pathetic attempts at trying something new! Fuck-!”

 

Kankri, who had opened his mouth to berate you on your language, slowly closes his mouth and just watches you complain and whine like a miserable fucking teenager with hormonal problems (which you technically are.) It’s when you start ranting about how the two of them wanted to take your pathetic self on two separate _dates_ that he finally cut in.

 

“They both do?” he asks surprised. “But aren’t they-?”

 

You finish his question for him, “Dating and maybe fucking each other? Yes!” You yell before slamming your head into the table (for the eighteenth and final time.)

 

Kankri doesn’t reply.

 

(Later that night, when you were trying to sleep, you thought you heard Kankri and Cronus talking to each other in hushed voices in the kitchen about you…but you had chalked it up to your insomnia keeping you up and making you hear/see stuff.)

* * *

 

Just as Dave had match-made prepared, John (cough Dave’s boyfriend COUGH) took you out to the movies Friday night.

You had been repeating to yourself throughout the entire school day that this was just a hanging out of friends. That this was _absolutely nothing_. That even though it was a “date” it wasn’t actually a “date” and anyway, dates were over blown and were boring. Dates were just something that romance novels cranked up to eleven to make its love hungry readers excited and giddy about. And you, being one of those hungry readers, refused to let the real world of “dates” sway you.

 

(That was...also kinda a lie. In fact, this was your _first date_. Ever. And you were having it with JOHN of all people.)

 

(John who was still FUCKING DATING Dave.)

 

It’s the first time that you ever sat shotgun in the red Prius (of death). In fact, it’s the first time that you ever sat in the red fucking Prius without Dave there to rap your ears off. (Dave does send you both a text though that basically tells you two to “Use protection!” You had responded back, in a classic Karkat Vantas style for Dave to go “fuck himself” while John just laughed.)

You honestly thought you would never make it to this moment in your life: unable to write about love, going on your very first date (in your life), and going on said very first date with your ex-most hated person in the world/ex-best friend turned friend again/ex-past crush/going out with your other ex-best-friend-turned-friend-again John Egbert.

 

John has that stupid smile on his face again and is doing a good job of channeling his inner Dave, chattering non-stop about how excited he was to see this film (“It’s Batman with Legos Karkat! LEGOS!”) A part of you wonders if he is also nervous, but your 90% sure he isn’t because after all this wasn’t a “date” date. This was just a visual re-interpretation of John’s first date with Dave, reconstructed to help you write.

 

(At least, that’s what you tell yourself so you can crush that small part of you that keeps repeating to you “ _I’m on a date with John, I’m on a date with John, I’m on a date with JOHN!”_ )

* * *

 

After you had bought the tickets though, you and John began arguing…

 

Over buying popcorn of all things.

  
“It’s cheaper.” You had said, gesturing to the larger box of salted kernels. “Who the fuck would shell out an extra three dollars for two tiny ass boxes when you can save more and get more with a bigger box?” John just rolled his eyes at you logic.

 

“You do realize that that was what the movie theater was hoping patrons would say so they could sell more.” He said.

 

“Don’t you get all Lalonde on me John.” You snarl back.

 

John just kept on shaking his head, repeatedly insisting that the smaller boxes of corn would be better for the two of you. (To which you don’t understand because this was his money he was shelling out for your sorry ass so why he wouldn’t want to go the cheaper route is unknown to you.) When you asked (for the fifth time) why he would want to waste a full three hundred pennies on two boxes, the only response John gave was that it was “more ironic.”

(But his voice had gone up at the end as if he was asking question and you immediately could tell that it was the “I’m-nervous-but-laughing-would-be-weird-to-do-right-now” John act.)

You had given _him_ an eye roll and asked why the fuck he was pretending to be Dave with the irony bullshit, throwing in a question of if sharing popcorn was really that big of a “red fucking danger zone” for him. John didn’t answer and you had used those few seconds to end your “fight” by personally paying for the giant box of popcorn.

 

(You might have also thrown a handful of the over spilling kernels onto John’s face after you bought the box.)

* * *

 

After you had officially elected John the “popcorn bucket holder”, the two of you settled into your seats to watch the “ironically chosen” (by Dave) “really wanted to see” (by John), “what the fuck this isn’t a romcom” (by you) movie.

 

You couldn’t help but think to yourself, as John would make side quips to you about how the fuck the animators made the Legos look like Legos even though Legos were probably only partially used for all the action sequences, that even though this date was as simple and non-exciting as you had thought (willed) it to be, there was still something…really nice about hanging out with John again and that there was also something kinda…. _exciting_ about being with John. Being with John, with his wise cracks and dopey grin, was kind of nice.

 

(Yet even though it was nice being with John, a part of you wished that Dave was there too.)

* * *

 

It was about after an hour of chatting during the movie (you had already been yelled at by the loudmouth with a speech impediment behind you three times) that accident number two (that is, if the “popcorn box fight” could be considered accident number one and John asking you out could be considered accident number zero) happens.

You had been laughing, not because the scene in the movie had been particularly funny but because John and stuck two pieces of popcorn on his teeth and had called himself the “Popcorn Troll of Death” and had looked so stupid that you just couldn’t help but laugh out loud. You had then tried to pretend like you weren’t laughing at John by turning your attention to the movie in front of you. Still trying not to look at John (because then he would see how your stupid face was grinning) you had reached over to John’s lap to grab another handful of popcorn to maybe (probably) throw in his face-

 

When your hand, instead of touching the dry, buttered movie pop, instead brushed against something that was firmer, softer, and more in one place than popcorn.

 

Also, warmer than popcorn.

 

Next to you, John’s breath suddenly hitched and you looked over to see what was wrong (and also to see what the fuck you were touching) and realized that, to your horror, the worst possible event that could ever happen in the universe of high school mistakes had just happened _to you_.

 

Because your hand was currently resting on top of John’s junk.

 

As in his _junk_ junk.

 

As in his dick.

 

As in it was on top of his jeans that were on top of his boxers that were on top of his dick.

 

You were touching John’s clothed dick. Not only that, but you were pretty much grabbing it (his junk, dick, etc.) with your buttery popcorn hands.

 

It’s an amazing miracle of miracles that you didn’t scream like a little girl right then and there.

* * *

 

You let out a chocked gasp and remove your hand as fast as you possibly can, nearly knocking the singular large box of popcorn (which you had insisted on buying for some fucking reason) out of John’s hands. (You can basically feel John’s eyes laser focusing into your idiotic blushing face.)

 

The silence that overcomes the both of you could be cut with one of Dave’s shitty swords.

 

After what feels like a millennium (that has been somehow compressed into a matter of approximately two minutes) one of you finally says something. And by one of you, you mean that _you_ finally say something.

 

“S-sorry.” You stutter. You mentally cringe at the sound of your voice because _wow you_ _definitely deserve the medal of idiotic honor huh?_

 

It’s silent from John’s end and you don’t expect him to say anything back. Actually, you don’t _want_ him to say anything back but when he does, his voice is as shaky as yours had been.

 

“It’s…cool…”

 

You glance at John from the corner of your eye and see that his entire face is oh-so-very-red. As in his entire, _entire face_ (hell, he’s even doing that bottom lip biting thing that you thought you only did) and you can’t help but hate how his expression somehow makes you feel _even more_ embarrassed.

 

Needless to say, the rest of the movie is watched in silence.

* * *

 

You’re expecting Dave to text you (after you got back from your initially-enjoyable-turned-so-horribly-humilating-you-couldn’t-look-John-in-the-face-for-the-rest-of-the-night-date) something along the lines of “Heard you met my boyfriend’s dick so why don’t I introduce you to my shitty sword which I have hereby dubbed ‘The Karkat Splitter’.”

To your surprise though, Dave instead asks you where you wanted to go eat the next day, mentioning that John was supposed to take you out for a bite after the movie but had chickened out for some reason (you think you knew this reason) and so it was now up to him, Dave Strider of the Strider clan, to make sure that the kitty got his fish.

 

(You had not rolled your eyes and laughed a little when you read this.)

 

You had texted him back (feeling slightly relieved that he wasn’t about to turn you into Karkat chopped bits) that you “didn’t really fucking care where you went as long as he paid for everything.” (Getting Dave to pay for stuff was one of the small joys in life.) Dave had replied by saying that you had better get your dress shorts and fake clip on tie ready cause he was going to go all out tomorrow. You had honestly thought he was joking, brushing it off as more irony of the “highest caliber.”

 

(Oh how wrong you had been.)

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously I'm sorry. You guys better be happy cause this chapter is double the amount of normal.


	8. High School: Dave and Karkat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we back (epic dab) 
> 
> (or epic fail because this chapter I like but don't like but do like.)

He showed up in Rainbow Dash the Orange.

 

This wasn’t weird. Or alarming. Or strange. After all the red (fucking) Prius belonged to John so it made no sense that Dave would come driving in that red monstrosity. No, Dave driving Rainbow Dash the Orange was not out of the ordinary.

 

It was when he stepped out of the car that you realized what he said over the phone was so ironic it hurt. Was so ironic it was not ironic. So ironic it was real. (Maybe in a way, that was what made it ironic.) Because he came out in a fucking red, three piece douchebag _suit._

 

Like the suits you saw male protagonists (or love interests) wearing in your favorite romcoms. Like the suits guys wore to impress their love interests in said favorite romcoms. Like the suits people wore to prom or a school dance or a cotillion (which was still a type of dance. Technically.)

 

“Sup Karkitty.” He gives you a side smile and then casts a glance over you, making sure to move his head up and down, taking in your not-as-fancy-as-his outfit (its your sweater again.) “Keeping it classy wearing black I see.”

 

Before you can even say, “The fuck are you wearing Dave?!” he slings an arm over your shoulder and leads/forces you into Rainbow Dash the Orange. He does it in such a rushed manner that you wonder for a split second if you’re being kidnapped. Or, date-napped. (Technically.) He’s grinning slightly the whole time he’s doing this, obviously trying to hide his excitement (for some reason) and you wonder idly if you’re in for the biggest catfish/rick roll of your life. Hell, you were still shocked that you were going on a date with _Dave_ of all people and that the whole ordeal with you and John had happened. (And judging by the way John is still not answering his texts, yes the whole “I touched your dick in a public space” event has still not erased from his mind. Who knew that something embarrassing from twenty-four hours ago couldn’t be forgotten so quickly?)

 

When you ask Dave where the hell you two are headed he just grins. “Well I promised you a dinner date Karkat and I am a man who follows up with every promise.” He pushes his sunglasses down and winks at you with those red, red eyes of his. “Buckle up babe.”

 

You promptly shove him, trying not to laugh because as hard as he tries to be “suave,” all you see is the nerdy, anime wannabe from middle school who drew pink dicks on your arms (and one time you cheek when you fell asleep in class.) “Just drive dipshit.” you say, still laughing. From what you can see, Dave looks slightly offended (probably because you were immune to his “Strider charm”) but he buckles up and pulls out of your apartment-shared driveway.

 

(You ignore the way your heart is beating like a fucking thirteen year old’s out on their first date the whole time he drives.)

* * *

 

You can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief when he takes you to Chipotle of all places. If he had actually taken you to a “fancy” restaurant (at the pier with the candles and classical music and stuff) you might have melted into a Karkat Vantas puddle of nervousness and embarrassment because that was the kinda fucking romcom shit you ate with a fucking spoon on Friday nights. Still, you don’t show your relief and instead elbow Dave in the ribs, asking if McDonalds wasn’t good enough for him. He grins and tells you he promised to treat you and that there was nothing wrong with a good-‘ol-taco. “Besides,” he says, “I thought you liked tacos better than the meat of moo-beasts.”

You’re a bit surprised when he says this because you didn’t think he’d actually remember something about you that was so…. easily forgettable. He doesn’t give you a chance to answer though as he parks Rainbow Dash the Orange and gets out before you so he could do the whole “open-the-car-door-and-extend-his-hand-out-like-an-idiotic-prince” act.

 

“M’lady, your hand please.” He says, keeping his voice low. (It causes a shiver to go up your back.)

 

Instead you give him the finger and step on his foot instead.

* * *

 

He pays for the food and, as you mentioned before, it is one of the greatest feelings ever to have Dave pay for something (especially if that something was food.) There’s an awkward moment when the cashier attempts to flirt with Dave, with the whole tossing her ponytail back and giving him a wink act. It makes you feel a bit uncomfortable and it only reminds you that (even though he was “married to the derp of the Egg”) that Dave got more attractive since middle school.

(Not that John wasn’t attractive. John was also hella attractive! It was just more of a day-night thing, where in the morning people felt drawn to cheerful attitude’s like John’s but at night people enjoyed the mysteriousness that someone like Dave could bring and- _God you sound gay._ )

 

Dave instead slings an arm around your shoulder and ignores her. You glance back at her after you two had sit down and see that cashier chick looks a bit disappointed in her failed flirt attempt and it makes you feel both feel both victorious and sympathetic towards her. You don’t hear Dave calling out to you (“Karkitty? Karrrrkitty? Kitty wanna fishy?”) but you do notice when he pokes you in the cheek with one of your tacos (which he unwrapped and was probably going to take) and “accidentally” smears guacamole on your cheek. At least you think it’s by accident but he then proceeds to continue bashing your poor cheek with your taco, even after you turn to glare at him. It’s when he starts teasing you with words of “I think you gotta little something on your cheek there Karkitty” that you retaliate by flicking some taco meat/lettuce into his hair (mentally breathing a sigh of relief it didn’t land on his suit.) He then gives you _that look._

 

“You did not.” He says. You just smirk at him.

 

You half expected a food-strife of sorts to take place, then and there, at the Chipotle at seven at night but instead Dave just brushes taco chunks from his hair and proceeds to continue to hover your taco in your face in a “take this or more guac’s going on your face” type of manner. However when you reach for it, he pulls back. You expect him to say something along the lines of “Here kitty, kitty” (if he does you were so slamming his face into his burrito) but instead his once smiling expression looks…. kinda serious. You ignore this and reach for your taco again, only for him to pull back. He does this three more times before you ask what the fuck he’s doing and why aren’t you getting some Hispanic food porn down your protein chute. His face turns a bit pink (replacing the once passive expression) and he mutters something that sounds like “wanna weed Hugh.”

 

“Who that fuck is ‘Hugh’?” you ask and he just shakes his head and repeats whatever the fuck he said. This time it sounds like “wanna weed you.”

 

“Do I look like a garden?” you ask sarcastically. “Or is this some feeble attempt to tell me that I’m as short as a weed?” The slight pink spots grow darker and he repeats (this time louder) that he wants to feed you like an ironic kitten being fed by an even more ironic master. “Not that we’re in a pet-master relationship,” he adds quickly. “I’m not exactly into stuff like that. Grew up with enough porn smuppets to know that I’m not one to swing that way. But if you swing that way it’s fine just as long as you don’t accidentally make a sex-call to me while you’re doing the sex. I hear enough of moaning from Dirk and his bae and it’s always a lot of ‘Oh~ Ja-!”

 

You cut him off by grabbing his wrist and just eating the taco out of his hand because if you didn't then you were pretty sure that you and all the other patrons around you were going to be traumatized for life (and you would never be allowed into another Chipotle in your life.) Your cheeks feel a bit hot but you try to catch his eye as you mutter (after you swallowed, yes Kankri you remember your manners)

 

“Happy master?”

 

His face turns very red when you say this and you can’t help but feel a mental victory at making Dave Strider change colors.

 

(You also ignore the fact that your face also feels a bit hot after watching Dave’s face turn red.)

* * *

 

You’re happy that your date with Dave is less embarrassing than yours with John (at least to you it is, Dave still looks a bit unsettled after the whole “Master” comment) and you feel you and Dave begin to ease into your usual “witty banter” like conversation. It reminds you a bit of when you two used to hang out at his house back in middle school, with impolite/polite jabs, bitching about school work, talking about all the video games you two were going to binge once it was winter break. You almost snort soda through your nose as Dave manages to both piss you off and impress you as he raps about the differences between you and him (he titled the rap “Irony vs. Grumpy Cat”).

 

It was….really fun.

 

(But for some reason, that same part of you from yesterday wishes one more person was there…That one more person being _John_.)

* * *

 

Your dinner date comes to a halt though (because the universe has proved to hate you and your life on more than one occasion) and it’s all Dave’s fault.

Even though you two had long finished your Hispanic-American meal of sorts (Dave had interrupted you almost every bite by listing off weird things found in customer’s foods, Chipotle included), you two stay until the same flirty cashier chick came over to tell you that the store was closing.

 

(You hadn’t even noticed that you two were the last ones in there.)

 

You had since moved your conversation from joking and teasing to …just catching up and talking. You already knew about his interests and he yours, but just talking about how those interests had evolved was…. cool in a way. Apparently his brother had given him _all_ the closets in their apartment (ironically of course, just so he could tease Dave every time he left one of closets to ask him if he had just came “Out of the closet.”) to let him do his stuff. One closet was his dark room for photos, another closet was his turn table room, and another another closest was his dead-shit-in-bottles room (a room that you told him you would never want to step into because, well, _fuck_ dead things. You preferred seeing a bird alive than in a bottle of its own juices.) It made you jealous in a way, seeing as he had all these interests and hobbies, but for some reason he liked listening to you ramble non-stop about romance and writing and shit. When you told him that your writing really _really_ wasn’t as interesting to talk about though, he just shrugged his shoulder.

 

“Doesn’t mean you should shut up about.” was all he said.

* * *

 

One thing led to another and you two began talking about John. It wasn’t even the conversation you were aiming for yet somehow your talk had slipped back to him. Maybe it slipped back because Dave had began talking about high school slip ups, (which usually had him as an unrelated-happened-to-be-there stand by that was forced to run when John had pranked an unsuspecting senior classmate) or maybe it was because Dave was telling you about an awesome new game he was playing with John instead of doing homework. Whatever it was,  _John_ became the topic.

 

(And maybe, you had all too willingly jumped on board with the topic as well.)

 

You yourself began telling him stories about John from elementary school (at least the stories you remembered) with most of them being the greatest fights you two had. He chokes on his apple juice when you tell him about the time John had been trying to prank you with a mini-airplane and instead caused the vice principle’s wig to fall off her bitchy head and catch on fire once it hit the ground. In return, Dave tells you stories about John’s “awkward ninth grade” stage. You laugh when he tells you about the time John had run through the halls of Skaia wearing a blue cape and had thrown pies at people’s faces on Pi Day.

 

It was weird to talk about but also (in that same meta way)… nice.

 

“John’s a great guy.” You say, unable to keep the smile off your face as you think about him. “He’s the biggest most idiotic, stupidest think pan in the world…but at least he’s not a prick like you.”

 

Dave moves to shove you for that comment so you quickly add that being a prick wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, it was just one of Dave’s multiple bad points that could occasionally out weigh his good. He looks a bit surprised (you think) when you say this and then asks (lowering his hand as he does so) what you thought _was_ his good points.

 

It’s a good thing that cashier lady interrupts to tell you that Chipotle was closing because really… Dave had too many good points for you to say out loud in public.

* * *

 

He’s driving back home when his phone goes off with that annoying _“bing”_ of a text message that _it_ happens. He looks over at it then tosses it to you, asking if you could text back John (because of course it was fucking John) that you two were fine and that he didn’t spill mustard on his suit.

 

“Password?” you ask, taking his phone in your hand.

 

“0413.”

 

That makes you…. stop. Not just your hovering hand that's about to punch in the number, but also your whole body. You tense and freeze and look back over to him and ask, voice wavering, “What?” as if you heard wrong because…well…

 

“0413 Karkitty. That’s my password.” Dave responds.

 

(…that’s John’s birthday.)

 

You move to type it in and it unlocks and the messaging screen with John pops up. You message back John (telling him that you and Dave were “FUCKING FINE”) and you can’t help but notice how many hearts and smiley faces and middle finger emoji's there are in Dave and John’s texts. You know you really shouldn’t be, but you scroll up to look at their conversations and _wow did they have a lot._

There are messages that say “ _good morning”_ and “ _good night_.” There are messages of encouragement before tests and quizzes. There are messages that just say, “ _i’m thinking about you right now.”_

 

And there are _so fucking many of them._

 

A strange, cold, sinking feeling washes over your body (from the back of your ears to the tips of your fingers and toes) when you realize that _holy fuck they were a couple._ Of course you had known from looking at media and the play-romping Dave and John did whenever Rose, Kanaya, and you had all hung out (and hell you even addressed it out loud more than once) but it was only now, right this second, looking at Dave’s phone, that it hit you _hit you._

 

They were dating and had been dating for a _long time_.

 

They were the dating, text each other at night _couple_.

 

They were the dating, hand holding in public _couple_.

 

They were the dating, smiling, and being all cute together _couple_.

 

They were the dating, use each other’s birthdays as passwords _couple_.

 

They were _fucking_ dating.

 

(And you could never have…. _them._ )

* * *

 

When Dave drops you back at the apartment, the good-happy-feeling you had been running on had been washed off of you. He (of course) notices how you went all silent on him and asks if you were okay. All you do was just nod because in no way were you going to tell him what you had just realized. Dave looks concerned and confused (which he probably should be) and asks if anything had happened back there in the car and if he had done something. He places his hand on your shoulder and instead of feeling the comforting warmth from his touch, it feels like there are twenty tons bricks weighing you down.

You shake your head and tell you just felt a little sick but (“Maybe from the tacos,” you say) and tell him not to worry. You even offer him a smile (that you know looks twisted and horrible but you force yourself to do anyway.)

 

You thank him for the date and tell him you’ll see him on Monday.

* * *

 

Your computer screen with your romance novella stares blankly at you as you stare blankly at it. Kankri and Cronus had been asleep or out by the time you kicked your shoes off and slumped to your room, that awful feeling still running around your body in circles.

You feel like you should be crying or yelling or screaming but you just feel _cold_ inside and _clammy_ outside. It was a foreign, alien feeling that you had never, truly felt before, but at the same time felt oddly nostalgic.

 

You raise your hand and highlight your shitty romance work. Then you promptly delete all of it. The blank page of the document lasts for five seconds before you begin to write.

 

And the first line that you write was the words: “ _Unrequited love sucks.”_

* * *

 

No one hears from you until Tuesday (because Monday was a fucking snow day and everyone loves it when the frozen dandruff of the gods chose to bless the miserable planet with cancelation of scholarly events) and, apart from the occasional knock on your door from your brother (which you had replied with a “I’m fucking busy in here!”) your typing is the only thing you hear for the next two days.

You write and write and write, trying to get every cold, weird emotion in you out of you and onto your paper. Trying to convey somehow this fresh, new foreign feeling in you and this understanding that you were both happy, excited, jittery, and nervous but at the same time just…. _sad._

You write a love story that is both you and not you. You write a love story that is both hopeful and hopeless. You write a love story that combines the confusion of being a kid who’s not a kid but not an adult yet.

 

You write how, in love, no one was at fault but everyone was a victim.

 

And when you finally finish editing, on Monday night at around nine at night, it’s both your favorite piece and your most embarrassing piece of writing you had ever done. Without a second thought, you send it to your English teacher with the message header _“Is this a better piece?”_

And on Tuesday, as you enter her class after saying good-bye to John and Dave, she smiles and says that you should be very, _very_ proud of yourself.

 

(And in some twisted way, you are.)

* * *

 

The last day of winter break, after two weeks of hanging out with everyone and spending late nights pestering/video gaming with John and Dave (at John’s house because, in Dave’s words, no one was to set foot in his apartment until a certain _person_ left and that certain _person_ would be wailing his brother’s name for the next two weeks. You have the decency not to ask and John has the decency to open his house for Dave) that you decide to fully admit it to someone else what you had realized that faithful day in Dave’s Bro’s car. You had given yourself enough time to think and think and think about it and, when you had thought about it all you could, you knew you needed to now tell it to someone or else all of whatever _this_ was would chew you up and spit you out like a piece of Hubba Bubba Max gum.

You walk up to Kankri (he was secretly searching up wedding bands which was both embarrassing and a bit “aww” worthy if you said so yourself) and ask if you can talk to him. He doesn’t look up from his laptop and tells you (a bit sarcastically) “You already are.”

 

You respond with a “I’m fucking serious.”

 

He looks up and you can tell (like he could tell) that you _were_ fucking serious and closes his computer. You sit down across from him and twiddle with your fingers a little bit too much, feeling grateful that, despite all his annoyances, your brother at least knows when you have fucking something to say. It’s five minutes trying to organize your thoughts and nerves in your head that you finally, finally confess what you now understand about yourself.

 

“I…really like….” You begin, immediately choking up midway because that frozen feeling’s coming back and you don’t know if _you can do this or not_. You take a breath and try again. “I really…. really like…. John….” you mumble and you can see the look of surprise and pity on your brother’s face and see the patronizing “Oh Karkat….” begin to form on his lips so you quickly cut him off.

 

“ButIalsolike _Dave_ too.”

 

You say this quickly and it’s at this time that you’re really shaking because you just said what had been clamping down inside of you for weeks and it’s just so fucking _weird_ what you’re feeling. You like two people. As in like-like. As in maybe fucking _love._  

 

_Bu_ _t its two different fucking people_. 

 

And it’s not “You-want-one-more-than-the-other” it was a “You-wanted-them- _both_ -equally-in-your-lives.” (Hell, you couldn’t imagine them _not_ in your life even though they had _not_ been in your life the majority of the time.)

 

Your brother’s look of surprise slowly melts off as you shake and ask him if you were messed up because it was one thing to be gay, but it was quite another thing to want two different people as desperately as you wanted them. He shakes his head and quickly tells you that no, you are not messed up and that this was what some people were like. They liked and loved and sometimes it was just _more_.

 

You choke back a sob and tell him you wanted them both (again.)

 

He tells you that it’s okay.

 

You tell him it’s honestly really really disgusting and horrible what your feeling not just for one of them, but for _both of them_. You wanted to do couple-y shit with the two of them. You wanted to hold both their hands. You wanted to hug and to kiss both of them. (You wanted them to hug you like they had that day when they told you they wanted you as their friend again. But you wanted that every day.)

 

Your brother tells you again you were okay. He gets up and hugs you and whispers that in your ear. You grip his shirt and as you ask, again and again, if you were fucked up.

 

And he tells you (again and again) that of course you’re not.

* * *

 

Yet despite the crippling realization of what is now your love life (of what you were now feeling), you manage to keep it in quite well. 

Despite the fact that you were experiencing the worst kind of unrequited love that could ever grace planet earth and despite the fact that it hurt just a little bit more when you saw John and Dave being the couple-y version of themselves around you,

You know you would rather have _this_ than not have them at all.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well fuck. That happened. I hope this makes people happy. I really wanna write some Crokri and Jake/Dirk and Erisol shit but I'm too college to do anything besides this. But yeah.... I hope this is good. I wanna sleep. Also I wanna write.


	9. High School: John, Dave, and Karkat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank god college is done. I spent a long time writing this. A loooong time. (Also fuck learning language in college. Unless it's required, don't do it kids. You'll never want to travel again.... #tw #fuckmyjapanesesensei)

The _ache_ that you feel is something that you never, _ever_ expect to fade. It was the type of ache that seemed to resonate and beat (like a heart) inside of you. It was the type of ache that gripped your shoulders and made you want to just cave into yourself. It was the type of ache that made you feel hollow, like one of those lame ass chocolate Easter bunnies that was as empty as a plastic bag flying around in the street. You had expected- No…. You thought you _knew_ that this ache would always be there now, replacing your previous lost emotion of emptiness and becoming the new pain that replaced your old angry hate.

So you're a bit alarmed when that ache fades a little bit the second Dave ruffles your hair and the ache fades a little more when John throws an arm around your shoulder and grins, ear to ear, at you. You’re a bit alarmed when the ache fades when you slap Dave’s hand away and yell at John to wipe that stupid smile off his face.

 

And you barely notice the ache when both John and Dave and you begin joking and laughing all the way to your class, as if it was never there. As if the ache wasn’t _in you_. John and Dave act like nothing changed (which technically on their end, _is true_ ) and as you walk with your two friends, _your two best friends_ , you forget for a few precious minutes that the _ache_ was ever there in the first place.

It’s only when you give them both a loving double middle finger goodbye that that annoying, horrible, _throbbing_ of want comes back and hits you like a truck as Dave and John right in front of you, take each other’s and walk away.

 

It’s only then that you remember that they were dating and would never want you in _that_ way.

 

* * *

 

The days begin to fold into each other (as high school days tend to do because not everyday could be the exciting teenage filled drama that aired on TBS after reruns of _Friends_ ) and with each passing day, sometimes the ache is there and sometimes it isn’t. Sometimes, when you wake up and go to school, the ache would be there, mocking you for your pathetic love life and making you want to rip your heart out so you could just make the awful, _awful_ feeling stop.

 

Other days, the ache wouldn’t be there.

 

Other days you would wake up with a microscopic feeling of the ache and you would, for an amazing twenty-four hours, forget that you ever had a romantic problem in the first place. You would go through your classes and hang out with your friends with no pain crawling inside of you and the only feeling of stress being that of tests, grades and the looming prospect of college.

And on other other days, the ache would only attack you at night, when your imagination liked to jump off the walls of your room and whisper taunts in your ear about how fucked up you were and how fucked up it was that you liked two different people. It liked to play scenarios where John and Dave would somehow find out about your feelings for both of them and they, disgusted and sickened, would push you away (both literally and figuratively) from them. Mental night vision John and Dave would tell you that no normal human felt the way you felt and that you should feel repulsed and revolted at yourself for _ever_ feeling how you felt towards not one but the both of them.

 

* * *

 

But sometimes…

Sometimes, in the morning when you emerged from your RE-whatever-Dave-called-it sleep state and your ridiculous over-the-top romantic brain was still not fully functioning properly, _sometimes_ you would allow yourself to wonder what it would be like if (a big _if_ ) the three of you, in some way shape or form…If the three of you could maybe…. could kind of…. _could possibly_ …be together in a way…. Be in a relationship in someway…then maybe….

 

(You always slap yourself awake after these moments because there is no way in fucking heaven or hell that that would _ever_ happen.)

 

* * *

 

You return home one day in March to find your brother giggling to himself at the kitchen table, with an empty beer bottle next to his head. He looks up at you and grins (obviously drunk, you should’ve known Kankri would be a lightweight when it came to alcohol consumption) before saying in a fake British accent a somewhat pathetic sounding “Welcome home brother darling~!”

You wrinkle your nose and respond with a Karkat-classic “What the fuck?” before Kankri gets up and, after staggering towards you, throws his arms around you as he continues to fucking giggle. You have to repeat yourself again, this time your voice going an octave higher out of confusion (“WHAT THE FUCK?!”) because its only a Wednesday and the last time you checked (cough forced to listen to _-_ COUGH) Kankri’s list of “Don’t Do During the Weekdays,” drinking was definitely prohibited as it interfered with school and caused one to behave in a garish manner that could be interpreted as not only unsightly but also triggering-(blah blah blah…..)

 

(You may have tuned him out after thirty seconds of lecturing.)

 

He’s still slumped against your shoulders and giggling a little _too_ close to your ear for comfort so you (as best as you could) drag him over to the living room couch and perform a mini-suplex on him so that he lays now sprawled on top of the cushions, still with that shit-eating grin on his face. (You also tell him the whole time you were dragging him that if he doesn’t stop fucking giggling you would burn every single piece of ridiculous speech he has ever written in his lifetime and you would throw those said speech ashes into the fucking Atlantic Ocean. To this your brother also just giggles at.) Before you could pull too far away from his drunken state though, Kankri grabs at your sleeve and drags you down so that your close (but not too close thank god) to his face again and whispers (actually whispers, _wow he must be really drunk_ ) in your ear that “it” came today and that he was sooooo happy because he had been researching and saving and researching and saving _and researching and saving_ for such a long time and he finally had “it” and he could finally, _finally_ could do “It with ‘it’.”

You can’t help but look at him with a blank, confused expression. “What?” you ask, actually getting a bit worried for your brother’s state of mind. “What the fuck are you talking about and what the fuck is ‘it’?”

Kankri just grins at you. He releases his hold on you, squirms a bit as he shoves his hand into his jean pocket, then pulls out a velvet box. Watching you with careful eyes, he lifts the lid of the velvet box to reveal the big “it.”

You feel your shoulders tense a bit as you look from the open box to the drunken face of your brother, the words “Holy shit” barely registering with you even though you know those words had come out of your own mouth because-well… _Holy shit…._

 

In a sing-songy voice, Kankri whispers to you, “It’s an engagement ring.”

 

* * *

 

It’s the first time in your life (outside of romcoms) that you have ever seen an engagement ring. Hell, it’s the first time in your life that you have ever seen a velvet box with a ring inside of it,

And you can’t help but a feel a bit excited when you do.

In fact, you’re surprised that you even _feel_ excited when you see the ring because you had always assumed that your overactive romantic imagination had blown up the engagement ring cliché and that if you ever saw one in real life you would be hugely disappointed and end up crying into your pillow for the “harshness of reality.”

 

But no, looking at the ring makes you feel. …Breathless.

 

It’s no Elle Woods’ pink diamond ring, it’s no Carrie Bradshaw’s black diamond, it’s no Bella Swan tiny diamonds eclipsed (ha-ha, “Twilight” joke) in an oval. The ring is nothing big, over-the-top, extravagant, or Hollywood crazy (which makes sense since Kankri and Cronus are just two almost college graduates still figuring out life). It’s a single pearl sandwiched between two small diamonds on what looks like a silver band (simple despite being a bit untraditional) but you can tell by the way Kankri hasn’t stopped grinning that this ring, _this ring_ that he spent a long, _long_ time “researching and saving” for (maybe even months before he had confessed to you what he had been planning) is perfect.

“I’m going to be propose.” Kankri whispers and you think you see what looks like drunken, emotional tears sparkling in your brother’s eyes. “I’m going to…p-propose!” Kankri laughs again, those same tears dripping down his face.

You can’t help but laugh along with him as well.

 

* * *

 

You’re practically bouncing in your seat at lunch when you tell your friends about your brother’s proposal. Before, it had been a secret kept in the Vantas side of the family (at Kanrki’s request) but with the ring purchased and with your brother’s permission (which you may have gotten while he was still drunk off his ass but whatever) you can finally tell your friends (without feeling too guilty) that your insufferable, annoying, talkative big brother will be fiancé (hopefully) soon. You know you’re acting ridiculously not like a high school male junior (more like a high school female freshman) but you really don’t care and you’re too excited about the prospect of your brother getting _married_ to really give a fuck. Besides, you know that your friends won’t care either. Quite the contrary actually. Rose and Kanaya both hide small smiles behind their hands as they watch you “insult” your brother’s attempts at romantic pursuits while John is grinning at you and even Dave is giving his version of a “Dave smile” (which you secretly think he should do more of but like hell you were going to tell him that.)

You’re going over the details of Kankri’s engagement ring for the third time (“Thank god it wasn’t just a plain fucking diamond because how boring would that shit have been if it was! There should be a fucking rule written that should say all engagement rings have to be unique and have some fucking thought put into it rather than just bought willy-nilly like a piece of shitty supermarket brand cereal!”) when Rose cuts you before you can continue your rant.

“You sound excited about all this.” she says, now visibly grinning at you (rather than politely behind her hand.) “In fact, I think this is the first time I’ve ever seen you so talkative about something _good_.” She chuckles a little at her own joke.

You glare at her and tell her that even though you know you can be a sad miserable excuse for a high school student, it didn’t mean you weren’t capable of being not unhappy sometimes. “Besides,” you add, “Everyone imagines how their truly beloved, no matter how annoyingly dorky or prick-ish their personalities might be, will someday propose to them right?”

Rose hums in (what you think to be) agreement. “’Annoyingly dorky or prick-ish’?” she repeats teasingly. You’re confused for a slight second (suddenly getting a huge “I-know-something-you-don’t-know” vibe from her) but shrug and admit that any guy you ended up future marrying will probably have _that_ type of personality knowing your shitty love life luck. “It’s like I only fall for the idiots anyway.” You say, rolling your eyes.

 

There’s a silence that comes across the table that you (at first) don’t notice as you continue to discuss-rant your brother and his antics. It’s only when you (passionately) announce that you hope Kankri gets his shit together and proposes before he chickens out (“He better do it before I go to college because there is no fucking way I’m going to listen to his insecure bullshit while I’m sleeping in a germ infested shit stained dorm room with other fuckers!”) that John says, or more accurately, _questions_ what you meant by that.

 

You roll your eyes and ask if the two things sticking out from the side of John’s head are working properly because what you so obviously meant was that you weren’t going to take anymore procrastinating bullshit from Kankri and that if he was going to nervously dance around the subject of engagement then you were going to totally beat the ever living crap out of-

“No, I don’t mean your brother Karkat.” John cuts you off (before you could finish your eloquently crafted insult.) You scowl, annoyed at being cut off, and ask what the fuck he did mean then and that he better make it quick because you still need to tell them how the fuck the ring looked like (again…. for the _fourth_ time.)

 

John looks at you with a…weird expression, then looks away towards Dave before looking back at you…. then looks at Dave again. Then at you _again_ again. You’re about to tell him to stop acting like a nervous Strider after an epic fail of a word vomit (and you even mentally prepare yourself for the inevitable sauce packet that you know Dave will aim at your head) when John finally fucking answers you.

But it wasn’t the answer you were expecting.

 

“I meant,” John says, “What did you mean when you said _you_ had a ‘shitty love life’?”

 

* * *

 

 

You freeze and what sounds like a confused zombie groan or whale moan comes out of your mouth because _wow you do not have a response for that question_. But it’s already too late to take back your words (and your zombie whale moan-groan) you had spoken and that frozen feeling inside you doesn’t help to unravel your tongue from the tangled, jumbled mess it had suddenly become. It was already too late to fix whatever mess you had word vomited in your avalanche of Freudian slips (that you are sure Dave must’ve rubbed off on you.)

You hope you don’t look as red as you feel and force yourself to crush whatever nervousness (and embarrassment) had been growing (cough _erupting_ -COUGH) inside your stomach. You look John straight in the eyes (because hell you are walking out of this situation like a man damn it) and, trying to manifest the remnants of the scowl that had been on your face, ask if he was that much of an idiot to think you that you went seventeen shitty years without a single shitty man crush. “How do you think you figured I was gay in the first place dumbass?” You ask sarcastically, secretly relieved that the awful cold “I’m-corned-like-a-rat-in-a-rich-prick’s-house” feeling is fading. You know you could have left it at that and go back to Kankri, but you continue with your diatribe, asking (a little more confidently) if John thought some kind of higher power deity took one look at your puny self and said “Hey this guy looks like he should like guys! Why don’t we hit ‘em with our gay-dar and hope he doesn’t get his ass kicked by other pubescent teenage homophobes who thinks he’s a fucking faggot? Oh wait! We went and fucked up the most hormone filled days of his life! Aw the fucking well!”

 

Your mouth is on complete autopilot and you know you are sub-consciously doing whatever you could fucking do to wash away your initial mess up (because there is no way you were going to _ever_ tell him- tell _them-_ that you used to have a crush on them when you were so much more in fucking love with them _now_. That was a recipe for a romcom disaster.) It’s not until Dave suddenly jumps from where he was sitting, seat clattering to the ground, and asks you what the fuck you meant by _that_ statement that you realize that you have made your second big ass Freudian-Dave-Strider slip of the day:

 

You had leaked about your past.

 

Still, you play the prissy card and try to brush it off with a “Don’t interrupt me asshole” but Dave cuts you off before you can even get the words out and he asks again you what you meant by “Pubescent teenage homophobes kicking your ass”?

And that’s when the “Freezing of Karkat Vantas Part II” happens, almost more painful and more numbing than the first, because if there was one topic you thought you would never bring up with anyone outside your family, it was _that_. That awkward, uncomfortable, unfortunate middle years of your life in between Dave and transferring to Skaia High.

 

You _never_ wanted to remember the time between Dave and Skaia.

 

* * *

 

You try (again) to brush the topic off, claiming that you were just using that as a fucking example and tell Dave to get his head out of his ass and not to take whatever spurted from you gap-yapper so seriously. You tell him that it wasn’t like you all lived in an episode of ‘Pretty Little Liars’ and that shit like homophobia didn’t automatically mean bodies being slammed into trashcans or being shoved down the stairs. It didn’t mean fights in the schoolyard and it didn’t mean coming home with a bloodied nose all the fucking time. It didn’t mean one got ink stain tattoos on their fucking foreheads or…or…. _or_ …..

 

You feel yourself becoming tenser and tenser as you try to desperately pull yourself out of this topic shit hole because you don’t, _you just don’t_ , want your friends to hear about this. You don’t want them to know because-well…. well…. You don’t actually know _why,_ but you know you don’t want them to know.

 

You can feel yourself going around and around in ridiculous circles of _nothing,_ waiting for anyone, _anyone_ to cut you off and start fucking speaking again. _Any-fucking-one!_

 

* * *

 

It’s not until Kanaya slides her hand on top of yours and forces you to look at her that you finally, _finally_ shut up. “You’re shaking Karkat,” is all she says concerned. “And….” she looks down and looks back up at you. “You are going to hurt yourself if you continue to do…. _that_.”

 

You look down at your free hand, noticing for the first time that you had clenched it into a fist that is so tight that it is actually turning _white_ due to lack of blood. Not to mention that your whole arm (and probably body) is shaking as well. Shaking _badly._

You force yourself to relax and look back at Kanaya. The look that she gives you tells you that she won’t accept anymore bullshit and you know that your poker face, the one you have perfected wearing in front of “couple-ly Dave and John”, isn’t going to work on someone- on a _friend_ like her.

 

(In other words, your _lying_ face isn’t going to work.)

 

A heavy knot fills your throat and for a split second you worry that you’re chocking before realizing that you’re just not breathing and you take a couple of staggered (and embarrassingly loud) deep breaths. You look away from her and (refusing to look over across the table at the intense stares from Dave and John) shrug your shoulders and say that it didn't “Fucking matter anymore” since the ass kicking was now in the past and hell you were here now so whatever had happened, had happened. What feels like a massive pressure (that you didn’t know was there) lifts from your chest and you let out a sigh of relief because admitting it, admitting this part of yourself you never knew you had obscured, feels…. good.

“Besides,” you add, trying to find a (heaven forbid) silver lining in the situation. “If that shit never happened to me then I wouldn’t have come to Skaia and I would’ve never made such great friends…” The grip on your hand tightens for a few seconds as Kanaya gives you her version of an “affectionate hug without hugging” squeeze. You look over and smile at her and Rose (who both looked like they wanted to hug you and cry for you at the same time) before looking across the table to smile at Dave and John. “And…” You add, “If that shit never happened…” You feel the tips of your heat up as you, almost shyly, say,

 

“We would’ve never become…bros again.”

 

For a split second, before you looked back down at your food, you think you saw both John and Dave turn a bit red after you said this, but you ignore that thought and ask if you could go back to talking about Kankri’s ring again because you really _really_ wanted to tell them more about it. Needless to say, your friends let you continue talking, letting you finally, _finally_ move past your whole “past experiences” dilemma.

 

(But you can’t help but notice the _looks_ Dave gives you ever since that conversation.)

 

* * *

 

The beginning of April you walk into Skaia to find that it had overnight turned into the wet dream of the police academy. All over the school halls and the school courtyard, literal fucking security guards with literal fucking security guard dogs wander around checking _everyone_ and anyone they passed by. As in the airport security “You better not be carrying drugs or bottled water” checking. As in the “Holy fuck did they bring these dogs just to sniff out for fucking _bombs_?!” checking. Hell they even make you take off your shoes before you enter the school just so they can check them too.

 

And Dave and John nowhere to be seen.

 

You look around and can’t help but notice that, in addition to the increase in security, everyone seems a bit…on edge today. All the teachers are walking and peering around corners nervously, jumping at every little sound, squeak, or crack that they heard. (One of them even broke down crying when a bird accidentally flew into the window with a loud _thud_ sound.) On the contrary though, the students are looking around excitedly and whispering to each other, gripping their phones in their hands as if they were getting ready to record something or someone. You’re about to ask somebody what the fuck was going on when the bell for first period rings.

 

And all fucking hell breaks loose.

 

One moment you’re turning your head to ask why there was a dog sniffing your crotch five minutes ago, the next moment the hallway is filled with feathers, balloons, confetti, glitter, and a lot (a lot) of flying pies filled to the brim with whip cream. You yelp, try to duck for cover, and, in a solid ten seconds later, find yourself suddenly become splattered and coated in the whatever-the-fuck of flying objects that only a prankster could hold in their arsenal.

 

Or should you say _his_ arsenal.

 

The school’s PA system flicks on but the only two words that comes out is the shouted name of “JOHN EGBERT!” before the sound is cutoff and replaced by _rapping_ of all things. Rapping in a voice that you recognize as one _Dave Strider_.

 

It’s only then, covered in cream and glitter, that you remember what day it is and you can’t help but groan at how stupid the idiotic think pan you called your brain was: Today is April 1st.

 

As in the day where all hell could (and definitely _would_ ) break loose. As in the day John Egbert could enjoy his Prankster’s Gambit to the damn fullest.

 

Around you, students are laughing, smiling, and pelting pies at each other while teachers (and the hired guards and dogs) have all but taken refuge in classrooms _far_ away from the students and their antics. Normally you would have been yelling and swearing your head off, but currently you’re too busy trying to avoid getting your ass-cladded school uniform covered in even _more_ unicorn induced vomit. Your efforts are for naught though as, rushing towards a seemingly safe spot, you find yourself being hit in the back with _another_ glitter bomb with a pie coming towards your face. Before you can duck to avoid said oncoming pie though, someone suddenly grabs you by your arms, yanks you to the right and fucking _tosses_ you in the air. You fly (for about seven seconds) and then find yourself being held like the fucking female protag from every shitty romcom in two strong arms. You open your eyes (which you haven’t realized that you had kept closed during the whole “flying” time) to see that fucking John Egbert is grinning ear to ear down at you and holding you like a bride on her white wedding day (sans white wedding dress.)

You splutter (embarrassed) and begin wriggling, yelling at John to put you down or you will strangle him with your own two puny teenage hands until he turns blue because dammit this is not what normal people usually did on April 1st. John, in response, just laughs at you. He looks past you down at something (because you two are definitely no longer on the ground) and shouts in a cheerful voice that he had successfully “Captured the Karkat from the enemy!”

 

You’re about to ask what the fuck nonsense he’s spewing when you hear, loud and clear, Dave yelling back that “Capture the Karkitty” wasn’t supposed to start until nine so technically John cheated and he won since the time was “Only eight fucking fifty three!”

John just continues to grin and, still looking down at Dave (you realize now that John is princess holding you on top of a fucking library bookshelf that somehow ended up in the school _hallway_ ) yells that Dave was just jealous that the “Prankster outdid the cool kid!” and that Dave was just salty that he lost his “Cool Kid-ness” tier on the “Etchladder of Awesomeness.” In response, you hear Dave yell that John didn’t really “claim the prize” yet so technically _he_ still had a chance.

“Riiiiight forgot about that part! Thanks for reminding me darling!” John responds. Looking back at you (your breath hitches a bit in your throat when he does), John yells, in an even louder, dorkier voice “For the House of Egbert!” before swooping his face dangerously close to yours and planting a big (slightly sloppy) _kiss_ on your left cheek. He jostles his arms a bit and, angling his face differently, plants _another kiss_ on your right cheek.

 

And wow, both your cheeks (as in the left one and the right one) are now on fire because John Egbert just kissed you.

 

_He just kissed you._

 

Your body fucking burns for what feels like a mini universe of a lifetime, all while the yelling match between idiotic boyfriend and idiotic boyfriend happens above your head. (Something about consent and shit but you’re really not hearing it because your cheeks _are still on fucking on fire._ )

It’s only after the fifth “Bluh bluh!! My name’s Dave and I’m a sore loser!” you finally grit your teeth and (fighting whatever surprise and embarrassment that has since filled your spirit, soul, body, and whatever the fuck your physical form is) yell at the top of _your_ voice that you were not a fucking flag in their little “Capture the Karkat” game and that John better put you down or you will “FUCKING KILL TWO _VERY_ SPECIFIC PEOPLE!”

 

(And no, you were _not_ smiling and laughing the whole time.)

 

* * *

 

The month that follows the vomit candy induced shitstorm that was April Fool’s Day (it took you a week to get all the glitter from the nooks and crevices of your body _out_ of your body) you find yourself pacing back and forth in your apartment, nervously clutching your phone (checking it every five minutes) and looking out of your living room window at the pouring rain, wondering when the fuck your brother will text you and tell you the “big news” because today….

 

Today is the day your big brother is finally, _finally_ pulling the biggest trigger on the biggest gun in your combined lives: Today, your brother is proposing. As in _proposing_. As in he is asking for marriage proposing. As in he is asking for _marriage_ marriage proposing.

 

And even though you thought this was a long time coming (you had to reassure Kankri ten times today that yes Cronus would not be triggered by a proposal and yes, Cronus definitely wanted to marry him) you can’t help but feel a bit anxious. You know that your brother had planned this proposal down to every single “perfect” moment and had triple-d checked it with you (you had to hand it to Kankri for setting the most romance filled shitstorm of a scene. He even went so far as to take Cronus to the aquarium to propose because he knew how much the man liked fish and water and shit) and all you could do was wait, but that still didn’t take away the giant, nervous knot in your stomach that is winding in on itself because you (as much as your brother) didn’t want anything to go wrong. This was the moment. This was _their_ moment. The moment that would go down in history as the “moment” of moments (that is…until the second biggest “moment” happened. Followed by the third, then the fourth, then the fifth…)

You continue pacing and looking at your phone, wondering when the fuck you were going to get a response when suddenly someone knocks on your door. You jump (maybe even yelp a little) in surprise and quickly you look between your phone and the door because hell Kankri didn’t text you so it couldn’t be him and him Cronus were still in the aquarium proposing it up.

 

Unless….

 

Unless they wanted to tell you the news firsthand. Unless they wanted to show off the ring (which you had seen almost a thousand times at your own request) on Cronus hand. Unless they were all smiles and blushes and dimples and-

You grin and scramble across the floor (falling down only once) and nearly yank open the door, a “Congratulations you assholes!” on your lips.

 

But its only two seconds later that the powerful, wet arms of Dave fucking Strider envelops you.

 

* * *

 

You feel your body tense up in surprised shock and move to shove him, to shove Dave, off only for him, for _Dave_ to hold you even tighter. As if he was afraid you’d disappear the next day like the rain falling down outside. As if he was afraid you would vanish into thin air. After a fruitless minute of struggling you finally let your body go loose and let the tension ease from your sides as you let him hold you in his wet grip for whatever fucking reason.

 

You can’t help but wonder the whole time Dave presses against you two very different things. The first being the obvious why the fuck was Dave hugging you in wet clothes out of the blue….

 

And the second being if Dave could hear how fast your heart was beating in that moment.

 

* * *

 

After what feels like the second longest hug in your life (the first one was that Karkat sandwich that had involved John in what felt like years ago) Dave finally lets you go, pushes his sunglasses up and against his hair, and looks at you with sad (almost broken) looking red eyes. The look on his face makes the confused “What the fuck?” disappear from your lips, replaced by a concerned sounding “Dave?” instead.

Dave looks at you, swallows, and whispers a soft coo of “Karkitty…” He scans your face over, as if looking for something, before reaching out and (almost lovingly) stroking a spot on your forehead. You try to pull away from him but the look he’s giving you is making you feel fucking light-headed (not that you would ever tell him) and you’re afraid any sudden movements will have you falling over into a Vantas heap of stupidity. Instead you just stay still as Dave continues to brush that spot on your head with his thumb again and again, as if he was trying to heal it with some kind of magical thumb powers. The urge to ask him what the fuck is going on dances on your tongue, but you find yourself biting back your words and waiting for _his_ response first.

 

When he finally does speak, it’s a question: “Did they do this?”

 

You’re confused as to what Dave is talking about and you open your mouth to ask only for Dave to cut you off, this time leaning in and whispering that you had a scar on your forehead, right where he was touching. You pull back, a confused “How did you-?” slipping from your lips before Dave cuts you off again.

 

“I bumped into your brother and his boyfriend.” he whispers to you. “I bumped into them and then I…. I asked…”

 

Dave from you and sadly shakes his head. “I know I shouldn’t have but…Fuck Karkitty you can’t just talk about getting your ass-kicked and then drop it like it’s a hot potato in fucking July. You can’t just pull that on a guy y’know? Especially on someone who just-” He gulps again and, in a shaky voice, asks why the fucking hell you never told them, never told him and John, about the shit that was your old high school. Why you never told them about what you went through. Why you never told him or John anything about that miserable, painful, and downright abusive time in your life.

Your breath catches in your throat at the same time Dave swears under his breath, looking like any second he would shatter into tiny little Strider pieces. Dave mumbles another “Why?” before slumping his shoulders and looking down. _“Why?”_

* * *

 

You want to comfort him. You want to tell him to stop looking so god damn sad because, like you had said, that shit was done and was over and you were right fucking here now. You were okay. You were just fucking fine. You weren’t over there anymore, you were here by his side.

Instead though, you can’t help but laugh an almost bitter sounding laugh at him.

 

* * *

 

Dave looks up at you, confused, but you continue to laugh your crazy laugh. It’s a not a pathetic laugh though, it’s a laugh that’s more of an…. accepting laugh. More of a “Wow I’ve been through a lot shit but that’s what makes it funny” laugh. Your laugh is dry and humorless and you know it is but you still let it pour out of you like the fucking Niagara Falls of Laughs. You laugh even though you know Dave is probably confused as shit as to what is going on in your fucked up brain. You laugh even though you know Dave was about to fucking _cry_ over you.

It’s this thought, this Dave crying thought, that makes you force yourself to stop laughing. With a lingering smile leftover from your chuckles, you tell Dave that it didn’t matter what had happened because that was the past and you were tired of looking back at that part of your life and you wanted to look towards (you think again of Kankri and his boyfriend) towards the fucking good in life. The frown deepens on Dave’s jawline and he asks again why you didn't complain. Why you didn’t rant. Why you didn’t tell them.

You can only offer him that same smile and tell him that you didn’t want them to know. You didn’t want them to know that part of you. You didn't want to hurt them even more.

Dave pauses when you say, as if surprised that you were revealing something so _raw_ to him. He licks his lips and then asks in a low voice if you would have told them if you had never fought in the first place. If you had been friends from beginning to end. If you two, if your _three_ , had never had your falling out.

 

You answer back that that would have made you not tell them even more.

 

* * *

 

You had just woken up after falling asleep on the couch (ironically in Dave’s arms because one you were tired and two it was “ironic” at least according to Dave to have bro cuddles even though one bro was in a relationship with the other bro) to find that it is the next day, that Dave was gone (and your fridge void of apple juice for some reason) and that Cronus is pushing a cup of (freezing) cold coffee into your face, telling you to get a move on or else you were going to be late to school. You’re about to respond with a “Fuck off you seahorse loving dipshit” when you something catches your eye.  _Something small and shiny catches your eye._

 

Pushing yourself you can’t help but stare and stare because there, right on Cronus’ ring finger, like every fucking romcom since the beginning of time,

 

Is Kankri’s engagement ring.

 

You can't hide the smile that appears on your face seconds later and you can't help but drop every passive-aggressive-Rose-influenced-comment to Kankri all throughout breakfast, asking if he was _sure_ he didn’t want to wear a wedding dress.

(And you can't help but laugh when your brother’s face turns red as his fiancé agrees with you that Kankri _should_ wear a wedding dress on _their_ wedding day.)

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I also spent a long time gaming Persona 5. Damn it, it's so good.... But I'm glad to be back writing. Working on some other pieces, reading stuff, thinking up AU's. Blessed summer work....(Also someone please tell me any mistake here because i've been up for seven hours editing helpppppppppp)


	10. High School: Karkat, Dave, and John

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i like the summer time. But my summer job doesn't seem to like me....

You think-no…You _know_ that sometimes you can be a little too far in your own head for your own good. You know that sometimes you think you're the only one spinning around in your own fucked up brain-universe and that any other passerby is nothing but a hunk of space rock that will crash and burn if it bumps into you. Like a meteor falling down to earth or some shitty asteroid in the space pinball game Dave forced you to play at the movie arcade.

(You totally destroyed him too, replacing his high score name of “ASS” to “FCK”. You never felt prouder in your life.)

 

So it’s surprises you when, a week after the big proposal, a depressed looking John plops down at the lunch table and proceeds to moan and groan his way through what sounds like a dying whale’s version of “Call Me Maybe.” Hell it surprises you that John could even _look_ depressed.

 

You’ve never seen John look depressed.

 

You’ve seen him upset, nervous, blushing (on occasion) and hella fucking mad, but you’ve never seen him look beyond the normal level of _sad_ before. You’ve never seen his ever-present smile erased from his derpy looking face. You’ve never seen him look like the fucking world was just pulled out from under him.

It’s…actually pretty terrifying.

You want to ask him what’s wrong but Dave beats you to it, wrapping his arm around John’s shoulder before asking (as in _asking_ asking and not making any run-on shit storms that he was famous for) what was wrong. John just shakes his head and mumbles something so softly that only Dave could (unfortunately) hear it. You lean in from across the table, wanting to ask what the fuck John just said, but are cut off again by Dave saying, “Oh babe,” before he begins to gently rub John’s back in comforting way that you could only call a romantic novelist’s “soft moment.” In response, John buries his face in his hands and continues his stream of moans as Dave whispers soft “It’s gonna be alright dude” in his ear.

 

(It’s disgustingly cute and couple-y and reminds you a bit too much of Kankri and Cronus for comfort.)

 

“What’s…. up?” You ask when it’s seems that John had calmed down a little. (You think…It’s hard to tell with the lack of the amount of face you visibly can see.) John glances up at you with miserable looking blue eyes and tells you that the line up for his “piano-thing” was just decided and he was going dead last. As in he was at the ass, poop-chute end of the other competitors.

 

“Oh.” You say, still not really getting it (you didn’t even know John was _going_ to do a “piano-thing” till now), “Is that…really bad?”

A quick look from Dave (more of a head toss actually) is enough to tell you that yes, that is hella fucking bad.

 

John grips his head in his hands. “No shit it’s bad!” he grieves. “Twelve other fucking finalists playing the exact same song and of course I get unlucky number thirteen! They’ll probably not even want to listen to me after hearing the same fucking song for thirty minutes straight!” he all but yells before proceeding to hit his head on the table and grumble about how he can now kiss that music college’s sweet ass away and to the moon.

 

That makes you…pause. Or really, that makes you feel numb to the fucking bone.

 

“College…? Audition?” You ask, confused. This is the first time you ever heard of something like _this_ before. In fact, this is the first time you ever heard of anything _college_ related from your friends in general (it being more of a forbidden subject of your friend group.)

Since John is currently occupied with head-banging (which he should probably stop because in your experience head banging only led to bruises the shapes and sizes of Kentucky to appear. Something you could get away with on account of your floppy bush hair but you were pretty sure John couldn’t) Dave answers, telling you that Johnny boy had wanted to get into a summer program that would’ve digivolved his music school college chance by fifty percent but now seemed to be “Dismally impossible.”

 

“Oh….” You say (again) and you can’t help but wonder why you didn’t know about this before and why John didn’t tell you. You also can’t help but feel a bit jealous that Dave knew about this audition but you didn’t.

 

(Perks of being a boyfriend you guess.)

 

“But John…” Rose says, sounding (and looking) as befuddled as you. “I didn’t know you wanted to become a musician. I thought you were going to major in biology or digital theater or perhaps even go into comedy.”

John stops pounding his head and looks up (his forehead redder than it had been a moment ago.) “I-I…” he stumbles then shrugs his shoulder. “I mean…I don't know either….It’s not like I’m against the idea or for the idea but well….” He says, his voice (you notice) suddenly becoming increasingly softer as he spoke. “My music teacher told me that it’s going to be a waste of potential if I don’t at least _try_ to go to a music school…. A-and she _has_ been my teacher ever since I was five so she knows shit like this and I guess I just-”

You can’t help but notice the unsure tone in his voice and (before he could ramble further on) quickly pounce on John’s confused state and asked him if _he_ even wanted to go to into a music school.

 

That stops John in his tracks.

 

“I-I…. Yes?” he mumbles before quickly saying “No…?” He shakes his head again. “I don’t fucking know Karkat…. I mean….” He brushes off Dave’s hand from his back and does another (pitiful) shrug. “I don’t know what _I_ want to do and shit. I just…. just…. just-!”

John lets out a frustrated moan before hanging his head in the universal sign of “I give up.”

 

“I wanna do _something_ but I have no fucking clue what it is!” He finally confesses, his once soft voice now loud in confusion. With another groan John’s head disappears back to into his arms for round two of “No one look at me please.” It’s silent at the lunch table for a few tension-filled seconds before John speaks again.

 

“You’re lucky Karkat.” John mumbles from behind his covered body fortress. “You are so fucking lucky you _know_ what you want to do.”

 

* * *

 

It’s seeing John look depressed in his own arms that you realize a secret that you never knew your friends had been keeping from you. A secret that was scarier than tests, quizzes, and maybe even writer’s block. A secret that seemed so clear now that you think about it but had been blind to until now. This secret was a fear:

 

A fear of the future. A fear of college. A fear of growing the fuck up.

 

You had never really paid attention to it before but now that you noticed it, you couldn’t _un-notice_ it.

 

You suddenly seemed to overhear every junior discuss college, majors, requirements, SATs, extracurriculars, and everything in between.

You suddenly noticed how stressed out your peers were, each worrying about placement, scores, and grades and each individually _terrified_ of the looming college process that would decide their very lives.

 

You suddenly saw the fear that plagued the eleventh grade.

 

* * *

 

For you, it was different though.

You knew you wanted to be a writer ever since you were a little gay middle schooler. You knew what you wanted to devote your life to. You knew that you wanted to write drama-filled romantic endeavors between two people, no matter the sexes, the religion, the age-difference, and the consequences.

 

And since you knew, it was different for you.

 

Discussions with your college counselor had pointed you to colleges that were not only SAT optional and scholarship available (because you weren’t risking anymore money off of Kankri’s back when he had loans of the rainbow variety shitting over his already stressful life) but coincided with a writing programs that made publishing companies turn their head and gape at. And even if you didn’t get into a “Skaia High” worthy college (which would be completely believable because you were never a “well rounded” student per se and any scholarship program would look at your science grades and nope you instantly out of the fucking game) you were still going to bust your ass at whatever backwater community college writing program or online writing program life decided to throw at you. 

So yeah, you were drowning in a self-induced pressure to succeed, but you had a _dream_. A dream that wouldn’t be stopped even if you were clawed, blinded, or sawed in half by the education system.

But you had always assumed that, since they were born into silver-spoon-eating–only family, the prospect of college for the other Skaia kids was no sweat off their backs. You had assumed that the rich Skaia daddy’s would just bribe the fucking board of whatever college, university, or institution their shit sniffing, drunken ass, angel on a fucking stick child wanted to go to and _“bippity boppity boo”_ the child’s pathetic think-pan was secured for the next four years.

 

And you hadn’t realized it before, but this assumption had somehow even extended to _your friends._

 

But ever since you saw John’s “freak out” at lunch, you began to notice how much tension was in your own group.

You saw the laptop Rose had out at the lunch table everyday before you guys ate and saw the intense look in her eyes as she typed away. You couldn’t help but notice the growing number of Band-Aids on Kanaya’s fingers from late nights of designing clothes and the colorful lint that stuck to her uniform like cloth leeches. You saw the way Rose would nervously close her laptop when asked about what she was working on and the way Kanaya would quickly rub sleep from her eyes when she accidentally let a yawn slip from her composed persona.

 

And you also noticed how nervous John and Dave looked whenever anything “college” was mentioned.

 

* * *

 

Past you had subconsciously thought that Dave and John would be set for college, that all they needed to do was flash their pretty smiles and _BOOM!_

Instant college.

Past you had subconsciously assumed that John and Dave could go and do whatever the fuck they wanted to do wherever they wanted to do it without a care in the world. That since they had the smarts, the looks, the talent, and the _fucking cash_ , they could do any-fucking-thing. (And maybe for that reason you were always a little jealous of them.)

But now you noticed how much John and Dave _didn’t_ know.

 

John and Dave _didn’t_ know what they wanted to do. They _didn’_ t know where they wanted to go. They _didn’t_ know what they wanted to be.

And you’re surprised when you learn, from Rose no less, that Dave and John were jealous of _you_ for knowing what _you_ wanted. For knowing, for the longest fucking time, that you wanted to be an author. For knowing that you would stop at nothing until you saw your name on the cover of a best-selling romantic novel.

“If I know those two,” Rose told you smiling, “They actually feel _inadequate_ when compared to you.”

 

This confession of course leaves you light-headed.

 

“Me?” you ask, “Are you fucking serious? Why...? How come…?” The words leave your lips before you even notice you were saying them because it was just so unbelievable that your friends, your crushes, are jealous of _you_.

“They never ‘fucking told you’?” Rose says, finishing your stream of unconscious rambling for you. Her smile just widens before she says (in a mysterious tone) that she may or may not have had to force this little tidbit of truth out of John and Dave in their last “feelings jams about you.”

At the time, you had only nodded, still feeling dumbfounded and surprised by the fact that people on the planet called Earth could actually be fucking jealous of _you_ and feel inadequate when compared to _you_ of all people.

 

(It’s only later that you realize you forgot to ask what Rose meant by her, John, and Dave having sessions of “feeling jams” and why those said sessions of feelings were about _you._ )

 

* * *

 

 

It’s early Saturday morning when you find yourself putting together the finishing touches to your end of the year writing portfolio (because apparently, private school ends the first week of fucking June instead of in the middle of June’s asscrack. Both a blessing and a curse you realize only now as you edit all the written works stored in the folder called “IF THIS SHIT GETS DELETED YOUR LIFE IS FUCKING OVER!!!!”) when you receive a call from a not-so-tired sounding John asking if you could do him a “small favor.”

You immediately frown and tell him no, you will not fill Dave’s locker with pictures of pre-famous Nic Cage again because last time you did that Dave had gotten one of his Comp-Sci buddy’s to rig your locker to sing the “Drop it” part of “Let Me Hit It” every time you fucking opened it (causing some weirdly non-ironic dance battles to take place right outside your fucking personal bubble.) John laughs (probably also remembering the time you had opened your locker only to find a Fourth of July worthy block party dancing behind your ass) and tells you that believe it or not, this wasn’t prank related and he actually called to ask if you could come over to his house (that fucking day) to listen to him play the piano. “Auditions are on Monday and well…I’m _nervous_ Karkat. I really _really_ don’t wanna fuck this up!” John’s chipper (and probably nervous) voice says.

You frown and ask why he didn’t just get Dave to listen to him. After all, Dave probably understood music a lot better than you did and you would only serve to confuse John the fuck up with your shitty words of “You’re going to do fine assmuncher now quit whining before I rip your vocal chords out with the largest pair of humanoid tweezers I call my left and right hands!”

There’s a beat of silence where you can hear John inhale before saying in a rushed tone that he also kinda, maybe, really, wanted you to hear how he sounded like. “On the piano I mean!” he adds quickly. “I mean you never heard me play and I just thought you’d like to maybe hear me before I potentially fuck it all up y’know?” he says hopefully.

You roll your eyes and tell John that he just confirmed your suspicions of only wanting you there so you could complement his little privileged piano ass. A comment that only makes John splutter and mutter something that you think (you know) is the words “So fucking annoying Karkat.”

 

“Heard that dick bag.” You say, running a head through your hair before closing your laptop. “I’ll be there in thirty.”

 

* * *

 

Being back in John’s house is…weird. Like super weird. Like weird times a hundred then a thousand then three thousand. 

It’s weird because it’s so _fucking surreal_. Everything is familiar to you. From the shitty paintings of harlequins on the wall, to the baby blue colored couch, hell even the ficus in the corner of John’s living room is still alive. (Mr. Egbert must’ve had the miracle green thumb of a god. That or that ficus was actually some realistic as hell plastic.)

But as weird as it was, what was even weirder was how Mr. Egbert welcomed you back in like there hadn’t been an over five year hiatus since you last entered the Egbert household. He welcomed you back like you didn’t suddenly disappear one day all those years ago. He welcomed you back the same way he had when you had stayed over on weekends and after school.

 

With a warm smile.

 

He smiles that smile you remember oh-so-well when he sees you, fist raised, to knock on the door and instead takes your fist and proceeds to shake it in a weird fist-to-hand handshake, all while saying that it was good to see you again and that you sure had gotten taller since nursery. His smile is still present as he lets you in, telling you to watch out for the tenth step on your way up to John’s room because no matter how many times he fixed that step, Dave always seemed to trip on it.

For a split second, as you give him your own nervous smile and thank him for having you over, Mr. Egbert’s other hand hovers, outstretched, over your head before it jerkily retracts. There’s a nervous cough and a fedora hat tip before Mr. Egbert reports he’ll be in the kitchen baking if you or John needed him and that he’ll bring up cookies later if you decided to stay late. His twitchy actions confuse you and you could only dumbly nod, wondering about the sudden uncomfortable-ness of the situation.

It’s only after you’ve tripped over the aforementioned tenth step and nearly knock your brains out do you realize that Mr. Egbert was about to ruffle your head like he did when you were in elementary school. Like he did when you were just a kid. Like he did every time you visited John when you were little.

And you realize in that moment that your friendship split with John had caused problems not just for the two of you; the split had unknowingly affected others as well. For John, the split had affected _his own dad_. The separation of best friends meant no more cookies to bake for another hungry mouth. It meant no more renting of shitty movies from online. It meant no more preparing snacks for two late-night gaming kids…

 

You had never known how much Mr. Egbert had done for you back then and the realization almost made you want to hit your head on the eleventh step on purpose.

 

* * *

 

The first thing you notice about John’s room is that apparently some remodeling had been done because it was _definitely_ not this big when you had last visited him. The second thing you notice is that the reason why said remodeling must’ve been done was for the piano in John’s room.

 

John had a fucking baby grand piano _in his room_.

 

“Keep your mouth open like that and the bugs are gonna get in Karkat.” John comments as you stare at the classical instrument monster in front of you. But you can’t help but leave your mouth open because even though you’re not a music expert, you are at least knowledgeable enough to know that pianos with a lid that opens like a fucking clam with a pearl shoved into it could cost as much as your and Kankri’s school tuition combined.

 

“The fuck…” You say, looking from the piano to John and back to the piano. “This is definitely not something purchased for a fucking hobby John.”

 

John however simply just shrugs his shoulders. “I have talent what can I say.” Is all he says. He plops down on the piano bench, patting the space next to him to gesture you over while telling you to try not to drool on him as he played. You promptly close your mouth (with a sharp snap) and move to sit next to him, making sure your grubby socks doesn’t touch his harmonious implement and making _extra_ sure not to sit too close to John because…well…. Sitting close enough to press any skin against John made you nervous with a capital “N”.

You don’t have to worry about the close proximity though because it’s John who scoots over a little more when you sit down, leaving a space wide enough for a hard cover book to sit in-between you two. You give John a quick look which he returns with a slight grin (and unintentional pink ears, probably noticing how weird the space was) before he looks away and, placing his fingers onto the keys, takes a deep breath and begins playing.

 

And _shit_. He’s good. He’s really fucking good.

 

No, he’s _fucking musically talented._

 

You watch as his fingers move as if they have minds and bodies of their own. You gape in amazement as each hand and each attached finger plays two different yet intertwining melodies at the same time. You watch him bob his head slightly to a mental rhythm and beat that must’ve been trapped inside his think-pan since he was fucking born. You watch as his fingers didn’t jump but gracefully glided from left to right, stomping on one key only to barely touch the next. You feel a lump begin to grow in your throat and your face begins to feel a bit warmer, as if you were the one becoming overwhelmed by the music that you were not only listening to, but also witnessing first hand.

You glance a quick peek at John, intrigued by the expressions he’s making. Or rather lack of expression.

 

His eyes are set, occasionally drifting from side to side, but mainly staring at…nothing really. It was as if John was mentally “seeing” everything in front of him in his mind’s eye, yet not actually “seeing” what was in front of him.

You don’t know if this is a good or bad thing and you don’t know if you should comment on this or not,

 

But you do know that when John finishes and tells you that he “Done did fucked up again,”

 

You _do_ know you have to tell him otherwise.

 

* * *

 

“Hey no that was-” You begin but John interrupts you.

 

No, he does more than interrupt you.

 

He fucking _snaps_ at you.

 

“I know! I know!” he nearly screams, his tone sharp with pent up annoyance. “I know what you’re going to say! ‘Wow John that was amazing! Why am I even fucking here? You’re going to do fine!’” he growls out. “I get it Karkat! I worked hard for this! I’m blowing this out of proportion! As long as I play with heart and soul and shit and not get nervous I’ll do fine on Monday but well-well…Well fuck!” He slams his hands on the keys, causing a sound that equivalent to a piano’s version of a scream to screech out. “It doesn’t sound right to me okay?!”

John runs a hand through his hair and closes the lid of the piano with a loud, angry thud that seems to echo through his room. It’s silent between you two, as John comes down from either his music or anger high and you wait there, feeling awkward, for a response.

And you realize, while waiting, that this outburst, this un-John like outburst, must’ve been growing inside of him as he played for you. This tension must’ve been multiplying with each awed breath you had been taking. This feeling of uncertainty must’ve been brewing and fermenting and mutating in John until the finale where he could no longer hold it inside of him any longer and he just…. snapped. He just fucking couldn’t take why he didn’t sound like how he wanted to.

 

And you, sitting so close yet so far from him, understood exactly how he felt.

 

* * *

 

You wait and wait and wait…But after waiting for what felt like fucking you're your think-pan registers that John wasn’t going to say anything anytime soon. That whatever words he was going to say had already been said in his fucking outburst. That now he was just an “empty John,” with nothing but a confused mess swirling inside his very soul.

But like John, you have no words to fucking say.

So you do something else instead of talking because sometimes, talking could only get you so far.

 

You close the distance between your two legs (that whole hard cover book length) and carefully take John’s hand in yours. Pausing to gauge his reaction (a quick inhale and slight shiver) you rest your head on John’s shoulder then give his hand a tight squeeze that you could only hope he knew was your version of _“It’s fucking okay.”_

 

* * *

 

“Do you even want to be a pianist?” You ask after what feels like a literal hour has passed (forty eight minutes actually but Dave wasn’t fucking there so screw accurate time counting.)

John doesn’t move from where your head is under him, but you hear him make a slight whining sound, causing vibrations from his sound box to rumble through you. In response, you shush him and gently squeeze his hand in assurance.

After another empty few minutes, John finally responds with a quiet, “I don’t know.” before going silent again. It takes approximately two more minutes of silence before John continues.

“I like piano…. and I’ve been doing it for so long I can’t imagine my life without it. But I mean, dedicating my life to it? Playing in an orchestra or playing solo? Just practicing and practicing every single day for the rest of my life?” You take your head off John’s shoulder so you could properly see him in all his closeness and notice the way his bottom lip quivers as he speaks. “You don’t know if you could do that.” You finish.

 

John nods sadly.

 

“They’re not going to pick me Karkat.” He says and you know he knows it’s true. John knows somewhere deep inside of himself that some other pianist on that list wanted to get accepted more than he did. More than he ever did. More than he could even imagine. He knew somewhere deep inside of him that he wouldn’t get accepted and he knew that not getting accepted was _right_. Not good, not horrible…. just right.

It was right that he didn’t want this as much as others did.

“Would that really be the worst thing?” You whisper back to him, leaning in slightly. “You could still just go to a college that has music. You could still do music as a minor if you like it so much. You don’t have to dedicate yourself to anything right now.”

John begins to nod then stops, as if _he_ just realized something. His bottom lip quivers again and, refusing to look into your eyes, he begins to say in an unsure voice, “But you…with you’re writing Karkat-”

 

You cut him off.

 

“You and I are hella fucking different John.” You quickly say, refusing to hear whatever bullshit nonsense he was about to spew. “You’re different from me. You’re different from Rose. You’re different from Kanaya. And you’re different from Dave. You’re your own fucking person. So don’t-” You jab a finger into his chest hard. “You dare-” Another finger jab. “Compare yourself to us…. Got it?”

 

John’s eyes fall back to yours and you can’t help but feel your own breath hitch because you two are close. Really close. Too close almost. Definitely too close.

 

(And you hated to admit it but you hella fucking loved being _this_ close to John.)

 

Taking a shaky breath John (unfortunately) scoots back away from you and gives you a slightly nervous slightly embarrassed smile. “Geez when did you get so smart Karkat?” he asks, trying to joke his way out of the romcom moment you two just shared. “I thought Rose was the one who wanted to be a psychologist. 

You return his smile with your own smile (really more of a smirk) and tell him your superior brainpower must’ve matured around the time John became the fucking king of sap. “Kiss too much of Strider’s ass lately?” you teased (your heart deciding that moment to let out a painful throb that was _all too familiar_.)

John rolled his eyes at this. “Yes that’s why I’m serenading you right now with my sick beats.” He quips back. You laugh and shove him, not so lightly, off the piano bench,

 

Your fucking heart aching the whole time you did so.

 

* * *

 

It’s Monday afternoon and you’re sitting in the fucking red Prius with Dave as you wait for John outside the train station. The audition for the piano competition had taken place in New York (this whole competition thing was apparently a huge deal) and the two of you had promised John that you would be there for him when he stepped off the train so that Dave could “Kiss it all better in the spots that hurt the most” in case John didn’t get chosen.

(You had then proceed to kick Dave all throughout lunch, asking with each kick if you had gotten his “Spot that hurt-ed the most.”)

You swear you had only closed your eyes for a second (you couldn’t help that you were fucking tired all the time. Heartaches did that to a teenager) before you find Dave shaking you wildly and telling you that he could see John coming out. The two of you are out the door, practically sprinting and grabbing John by two different shoulders, in seconds. The question of “How did it go?” is on your lips but before you could even ask it, John looks up at you with puffy eyes and,

 

He shakes his head.

 

“Fucking messed up.” John mumbles. “I botched the ending and shit and I...I…just…. fucked up.”

 

A silence overtakes the three of you before Dave begins to lovingly rub circles on John’s back with his free hand as you awkwardly remove your hand, feeling that this was a more boyfriend situation then a friendship situation.

You’re thrown through the fucking loop of the century though when John, with a raspy, tearful gasp, latches onto to _both_ of you, trapping you and Dave in his grip. He’s crying before you even realize what the fuck is going on and all you could do (all you can do) is hold him onto him like he was doing to the both of you.

“I didn't even care that I messed.” He blubbers, tears choking him as he spoke. “They told me I was great and had potential and I should really continue playing and shit, but all I kept hearing was ‘ _This isn’t for me! This isn’t for me! This isn’t for fucking me!_ ’”

You can feel John’s tears being pressed into your neck as he cries and sobs out his little heart. In between his sobs John confesses that he wasn’t sad he screwed up. He wasn’t sad that he messed up his chances. He was sad because he realized he was completely, utterly, 100% okay with _not_ becoming a pianist. He was sad that he realized that going to music school, that playing piano everyday of every second wasn’t his calling.

 

He was sad that he realized he had been lying to himself.

 

“I want to do other stuff.” John mumbles, his voice still hiccupping every few seconds. “I want to experiment in a lab. I want to prank my college roommate. I want to perform in a comedy club. I want to…. I want to….” He gasps silently and hugs the two of you closer as he whispers, so softly you almost miss it,

 

“I want to stay with the two of you for as long as I fucking can.”

An arm sneaks around your waist and you can’t help but feel yourself tense up, surprised at the red cladded, t-shirted arm of _Dave_ holding onto you and bringing you closer into the bro hug.

 

“Me too man.” Dave says, his voice also sounding choked up (with possible tears),“Me too.”

 

* * *

 

You’re shopping with Kankri at the secondhand store (looking for some suitable shirts for both yourself and him) when you come across something…white. 

You had been sliding shirt after shirt across the rack when you find yourself stopping at a white shirt that was a little longer than the normal shirt. A shirt that was also a little more decorated that the other shirts. A shirt that had cheap-ass looking ruffles and lace trimmed all over it.

 

Your scowl turns into a small smirk when you realize you're looking at a short _white dress_.

 

You’re practically grinning when you take the dress off from the rack and, turning around a corner, present it to Kankri’s back and ask if he wanted to try it on in preparation for the “big day.”

“Gotta start looking for a wedding dress before the other pre-menopausal shit sniffers descend for their June weddings.” You joke, waving the dress teasingly behind your brother.

Kankri turns to you, a look of surprise written on his face and you could see the words, “Shit” tumble from his lips before someone behind him clears _her_ throat.

“So not only…” The voice says, in an icy tone that immediately sends shivers up your back (and not the good shivers) “Do I not hear from you in three _years_ , but I also find out from _someone,_ who I can only assume is your brother _,_ that you are getting _married_?”

 

You watch as the blood drains from Kankri’s face before he turns around and starts shaking his head wildly while saying “No Porrim it’s not-! I mean-!”

 

“And you didn’t even, in all our years together, _ever_ properly introduce me to your brother.” The voice continues.

A hand shoves the spluttering Kankri aside (he fucking _yelps_ in panic) and you watch as the brother-pusher straightens her back to her full height (taller than both you and Kankri) to walk over to you. Her swaying black hair, her multiple piercings, and even her way of dress screams the words “STRANGER DANGER! RUN KARKAT!” in your ears yet you find your feet cemented to the floor.

 

The stranger smiles.

 

“Porrim Maryam.” She says, hand outstretched for a handshake (that you knew you shouldn’t even _think_ of refusing.) “The famous ‘Karkat Vantas’ I presume?” You take her hand cautiously only to find yourself in one of the firmest hand shakes you ever experienced in your life that practically moves your whole fucking body up and down like a unbalanced seesaw.

“Y-yeah- I mean yes.” You say, understanding suddenly why your brother looked like he was about to shit bricks. Porrim looks you up and down and smiles at you, commenting on how your hair wasn’t nearly as wild as Kanaya described. “Then again,” she adds, “My darling little sister never met your brother before.”

 

(As Porrim tosses her hair over shoulder to face Kankri again, you mentally berate yourself for not seeing the “tension filled” connections that seemed to run in the Maryam bloodline.)

 

* * *

 

“So Kankri…” Porrim says, placing her cup of ice coffee on the table as the three of you sat and “caught up” as Porrim called it. (Really it looked more like your brother got called into the principle’s office and you were the unlucky fuck up of a parent who was forced to watch their child get grilled.) “Marriage I see? Nice to know those balls you grew when it came to your sexuality didn’t turn blue and fall off.”

Kankri splutters and you can see the lecture on his lips die before they’re even out of his mouth as Porrim flicks her hand. “I know, I know. My language is still horrid.” She says a grin plastered on her face. “Still, it’s nice to see that you’ve changed and grew up at least a _little_ bit since high school Kankri.”

Kankri scowls. “And it’s nice to see you’re still as crude as ever Porrim.” he says back, but there’s no bite to it. In fact, it’s more of a tone in between a tease and a lecture.

Porrim just shrugs. “Old habits die hard,” she says. Her eyes then twinkle mysteriously. “Speaking of ‘old habits’, I should congratulate Cronus for following his heart rather than his dick. Looks like that idiot has more restraint than I gave him credit for.”

You expect Kankri to definitely make a comment on that sentence but you instead watch as a look of surprise passes by Kankri’s face. “…What…?” he says confused. “You know then that it’s…You know it’s…. it’s Cronus I’m engaged to?” he asks. 

 

The twinkle in Porrim’s eye is unmistakable.

 

“Who else would it be?” she answers back. “Sure he was an ass twenty-four seven, but if he could convince you to date him then it was already pretty much set in stone that the two of you would get hitched. Besides,” she says happily, “It was always clear how much he cared for you.”

Kankri visibly gulps and, looking down, he begins to play with his sweater, a tense expression on his face. “So you’re not…. You know….” He begins before stopping. It takes him a few seconds to recompose himself before he starts again. “I mean it doesn’t…you know….” He hiccups before he could finish his sentence and bites on his lip, unsure of how to continue.

 

Luckily Porrim, for all her mysteriousness, surprisingly understands your brother well enough. (They must’ve been good friends in high school.)

 

“Bothered by it?” She finishes, “Oh Kankri darling...” You watch as she reaches over and takes your brother’s hand in hers. “You thought I would be upset didn’t you?”

 

Kankri shrugs. “Well you and Cronus never really…got along in high school.” Your brother says meekly. “So I thought if you knew you would…. well….”

 

“Flip my shit?” Porrim finishes. She makes a small ‘hm’ noise and you could see her begin to open her mouth as if to disregard the fact before she promptly clamps it shut and,

 

Grins again. Grins a very, _very_ mischievous grin.

 

“You know….” she begins. “I am awfully upset that you didn’t tell me Kankri.” She says, drawing out the words teasingly. Kankri looks up, a scared look in his eyes before Porrim continues. “But I guess I could forgive you if you let me do one _tiny_ little thing.” A positively evil glint flashes through her eyes as she continues (not even waiting to hear Kankri’s response.)

“I’ll forgive you Kankri Vantas” Porrim says, “If and only if…” she pauses for dramatic effect before announcing in a gleeful voice,

 

“You let me design your wedding dress.”

 

Porrim winks at a shocked looking Kankri before adding that she had been “Looking to challenge herself lately” and what better way to do so than to “Make a wedding dress for her very best friend?”

 

(Kankri’s face is indescribable.)

 

“Wh- But I’m not-! Porrim!” Kankri splutters, horrified. “I am _not_ wearing a wedding dress! That conversation has simply been an ongoing joke between Karkat and I and it is triggering to assume-!”

“Unless you _reall_ y want me to flip my shit, for which I will. Not to mention I will never forgive you.” Her grin is blinding when she adds (for emphasis), _“Ever.”_

 

You have to swallow what feels like a physical gallon filled amount of giggles in your body as you watch your brother compliantly agree to let Porrim Maryam design him a _fucking wedding dress_ for his big day.

 

(You were so inviting Dave and his camera to the wedding.)

 

* * *

 

You and Dave are doing the “final push” through your projects in the library (him with his photos, you with your writing) when you nonchalantly ask him if he’d show you some of his pictures in exchange for him reading some of your writing.

Okay, maybe not so nonchalantly.

It was just that…You couldn’t help but wonder ever since the whole piano performance incident with John what kind of set back Dave was experiencing. You knew from Rose that, like John, Dave was also confused, but you didn’t know to what level he was freaking out about shit thanks to his unreadable, cool kid, face façade made of stone.

 

Was he even freaking out? Did he fling records against the wall in annoyance or rip pictures in frustration? Did he take his army of dead things and hide them around the local shopping mall just to let off some steam? (You sure hopped he didn’t do that.)

 

Dave looks at you and nods, tossing you a random stack of photos as you passed him a short story of yours (only two fucking pages as opposed to the forty-to-fifty pages you knew you could shell out when asked to do so). As Dave reads up some of your romance, you gaze at his black and white Polaroids with interest. Since you don’t exactly know what you’re supposed to be judging (as Dave had been stressfully doing in front of you) your gaze just views each photo as beautiful and (for lack of a better word) artful. You marvel in each of the photo’s individual complexity before you flip to the next one.

 

It’s four photos in though that you come to a stop because the fifth picture, the fifth black and white final project of a picture….

 

Is a fucking picture of _you_.

 

It’s a candid, unscripted, never-before-noticed shot of you laughing.

 

You gaze at it confused then look back up at Dave who was (luckily) still occupied with your story. Cautiously you move the photo to look at the next one and to your surprise, it’s another picture of you. This time your back is presented in the picture as you stare out a window ledge in Skaia High.

You flip through the rest of stack, your bewilderment and shock growing as each shot showcases _you_.

You’re smiling, you’re laughing, you’re working on a romantic story. _The whole stack is you._

 

When you get back to the first photo you’re face feels uncomfortably warmer and you slid the photo pile back to Dave as he passes you his story, commenting that he liked the twist ending at the end and asking if he could read another one of your stories.

You hope your face isn’t as hot as it feels when you nod and pass him back another story.

 

(And you hope that the familiar throbbing would just shut up for a _fucking second_.)

 

* * *

 

It’s when Dave finishes reading your whole entire portfolio (something that makes you feel both honored and embarrassed for because some of those stories were _fucking personal_. Then again, your work had successfully changed Dave into a romance reading addict so you might as well feel proud of it) that you ask him your burning question of the unforeseeable future. The question that you know will annoy the fuck out of Dave but what you wanted to (desperately) know:

 

“What do you want to do?”

 

Dave pauses and you can tell that he knows what you’re talking about with the way clenches and unclenches his fingers around his last read amorous story.

“Well Karkitty” he begins and you can see the bullshit even before he begins to spew it out. “If you’re asking for my Christmas list for Santa dearest I’m sorry to say but I haven’t begun writing up that shit for old man winter. Besides, I promised Rose that I would partake in the menorah wielding, potato pancake eating festivities that is Hanukkah this December. Tell the jolly old North Pole hippie I’m sorry because it looks like my ass is going to be in front of burning fires of life rather than the dead relative of John’s ficus.”

 

(You should’ve expected this.)

 

You roll your eyes and tell Dave that he know that’s not what you meant and that the only real truth you had gotten from that shitstorm was that your before suspicions of John’s dad having a fucking miracle of a green thumb was true.

There’s a split second where you can see Dave begin to lie before, all of a sudden, he fucking _deflates_. Like he was just popped like a balloon on a kid’s birthday party. As if he realized that lying to you, bullshitting to you, wasn’t worth it. He lets out a deep breath, rolls his shoulders back (making a popping noise in the process) and _really_ speaks.

“I don’t know.” He says quickly, like he’s ripping off an old bandage. “I’m like that dorkiest of Egderps when it comes to what I wanna do.” Dave confesses, pushing his glasses up slightly to rub his eyes before lowering them again.

 

“I mean, John has a shit ton he likes so it makes sense that he doesn't know what he wants to do in his later years, but me?” he sighs. “I like my turntable music, I like developing photos, I like collecting dead shit and learning about it…” he says. “But you know what those guys sitting in their chairs with their tight ass pants accepting college bound fuck ups will say? ‘Wow Mister Strider, you sure have a lot of cool _hobbies._ ’” Dave shakes his head in disgust.

“I like doing all the cool shit I do now but those pompous assholes are probably gonna think I’m some sad hipster wanna be with too much time on his fucking hands!” He growls out, his voice rising in anger. His face begins to scowl and you can see him become increasingly furious. “So what if I can’t pick one thing to ‘focus on’! So what if I’m not ‘corporate America’?” He yells (actually yells.) “I like the things I do so I wanna keep doing it! What’s so fucking wrong with that?!”

 

Dave’s practically screaming now, utterly nauseated by the “boxes” he was being forced into. You watch in surprise as Dave bemoans how he just wanted to go to college to learn more awesome shit and that not everything was about getting a job and getting a house and getting retirement funds. “I’m still young!” he snaps. “Why do I need to know every-fucking little thing now!? Why does my future have to be set in stone!? Why Karkitty!? Fucking why!?”

You don’t have an answer for him. You don’t know what to say or do because, like John, Dave’s _everything_ is spilling out to you in waves and all you could do was _fucking wait._

 

* * *

 

When he finally calms down and looks back at you, Dave’s face is bright red. He coughs embarrassed and mutters that he didn’t mean to go on that emotional roller coaster of his and didn’t mean to take you along for the ride. “That was pretty…uncool of me,” he sheepishly confesses. “Sorry about that babe.”

You’re frozen for a few seconds, barely recognizing that Dave apologized to you as your mind continues to wrap itself around all the rants you have just been exposed to in the last three and a half minutes. Hell, you almost feel disgusted with _yourself_ for forcing Dave to spill his worries to you like some teenage drama queen. 

But at the same time, you feel a bit…. happy as well. Happy that Dave can rant to you. Happy that Dave could complain to you. Happy that you can hear this side of Dave.

You can’t help the small smile on your lips and, hoping that Dave didn't misinterpret you, you reach across the table and take his hand in yours. Still smiling, you press his hand against your cheek and (because you’re a cocky little fuck) teasingly promise him you’ll keep his little uncool outburst a secret. “After all,” you say. “I think we’re entitled to act shitty sometimes. We are still just kids after all.”

 

When you catch his eyes from behind his shades (at least you think you catch them), you’re surprised to see Dave’s whole face turn a ridiculous shade of red that makes you want to laugh and tease him even more.

 

(It doesn’t help that the staggered gasps and the rapid head nodding of Dave’s makes you think how adorable he is when he’s flustered like this.)

 

* * *

 

 

It’s only after you’re drinking water and watching as Cronus loving kisses Kankri on his cheek that you realize what you had so fucking naturally done with Dave and you quickly go from drinking to choking as that realization begins to melt what little remaining smart brain cells you have left in your brain as you realize that you (again) fucked up and fucked up badly. 

And you mentally wish (for the hundredth time) that you didn’t fall in love with both your two best guy friends.

 

* * *

 

(And you mentally wish for hundred thousandth time that Dave and John, that you and Dave and John, could somehow, some way, some mind fucking, mind boggling way, that three of you could just maybe…)

(Could just possibly…)

 

(Be together….)

 

(Like John had said. Like Dave had agreed to. Like you secretly wanted and craved for in the darkest recesses of your mind…)

 

(But that would be impossible…Utterly, completely, thoroughly, absolutely, impossible.)

 

(Just impossible.)

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> JK my summer job loves me. 
> 
> I've been thinking of doing a spin off side story of just Kankri. Probs will be only one chapter. IDK.
> 
> Also apparently this story is like pretty high up in the poly side of JohnKatDave Homestuck fanfics? So....yeah....
> 
> Thanks everyone.


	11. High School: John, Karkat, and Dave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back at college. Hope i can write more. (HAHAHAHA) I really wish I could.
> 
> THERE BETTER NOT BE FUCKING TYPOS ON THIS!
> 
> (EDIT: Minor typos fixed. Phew~! Now I can......do something.)

It’s an afternoon in June when you swear to yourself you will murder your study packet filled brain.

Because you are just.

 

So.

 

Fucking.

 

Tired.

 

Every time you blink you swear you can feel your eyelids peeling back and staying, like a pair of bunched up covers, behind your fucking eyes before popping back and making you feel even _more_ tired than you already were.

Said tired eyes glass over to your alarm clock (because you banned yourself from using your phone until your history had been studied and passed. You actually bemoan the fact that you handed in your English rewrites because now you have to return your attention back to the realities that was a “rounded education.” Meaning that you have to study seventy-two hours for just one exam. Oh how the fates were cruel) and you realize (with a self-contained holy shit) that it was not a fucking June afternoon but actually eleven fifty fucking five at _night_.

 

It’s a double holy shit moment when you realize that in eight hours and five minutes you had _that_ history exam.

 

Unfortunately, the terrifying _whoosh_ of anxiety, fear, and a slight tingling from your feet does nothing to wake you up. Ironically, you think you actually become even more tired when you realize that, even with an upcoming exam, you can still catch seven hours of sleep.

(What a joke. No way in hell were you sleeping that many hours tonight/this morning/what ever the fuck this time was.)

 

You’re torn between grabbing another cup of caffeine to fight off your sleepy eyes or just saying “fuck it” and sleeping because seriously you cannot-

 

Keep.

 

Your.

 

Eyes.

 

Fucking.

 

Open.

 

Surprisingly though, the choice is made for you.

Your phone suddenly vibrates (and definitely does not scare the ever living fuck out of your sleep deprived, twelve-fucking-oh-four A.M. brain) alerting you to an incoming call. You fumble for it (your fingers not shaking/trembling,) and hit “ANSWER,” realizing only after you did this that this was probably just a tele-market-fucking-person trying to sell you weird shit because who else would be calling you at twelve-fucking-oh-four (now five) in the morning?

 

“Sleep insomnia thy name is Karkitty. Should’ve known you’d still be up and kicking.”

 

You roll your eyes but can’t help the smile that creeps up on your lips. “Look who’s talking Dave.” you retort. “All your years with John and I thought some of his ‘good boy habits’ would wear off on you.”

“Actually…” Dave begins before he is cut off by the sharp, loud voice of John yelling a cheerful “Hello!” and “You still studying or something?” You don’t even try to mask your groan as John giggles into the receiver a teasing “Guess I wasn’t that much of a ‘good boy’ in the first place wasn’t I Karkat?” 

“No you weren’t.” you say. “I all for-fucking-got about April first and that one time in fourth grade.” You smirk. “And by ‘one time’ what I actually mean was _everyday_ in fourth grade.”

  
You hear an “hmm” noise from Dave. “Fourth grade huh?” he says. “Cute chibi tiny John before he became all nerd tears and sweet ass. You gotta tell me about that Karkitty. Preferably in front of John so we can tag-team humiliate him.”

 

“I’d like to tag-team humiliate you Dave.” John mumbles. “Hey Karkat when are you gonna come down?”

 

Whatever you were going to say fades on your lips as your mind blanks and the words “come down” echoes in your brain. “What do you mean ‘down’ you dipshits?” you ask confused. 

You can positively hear the grin on one of those smug asshole’s face as he says, “We’re parked outside Karkat.”

  
You spring up from your seat. “Oh hell no.” you say into the receiver. 

“Oh hell _yes_ ,” Dave answers back, “Look outside your window Princess Karkitty.”

 

You stumble to the window and draw back the curtains, half hopping that those two idiots were NOT outside your window (and half hoping that they were.)

The other “half-hoping” part of you wins and you look down to see the red fucking Prius just sitting there in your shared apartment driveway. 

 

“What the actual fuck guys?!” you yell. You then quickly turn said yell into a whisper because you were not going to trigger Kankri into another one of his “Studying and Rest Must Be Done in Moderation” speeches. “You guys are going to get my ear holes murdered by my shit talking brother if he catches you guys here!” you say as angrily as you could before adding that three of you also had a fucking exam in less than eight hours.

“Why the fuck are you guys here!?” you demand.

It’s silent on the other end of the line and you could hear a slight scuffle of “You tell him” (from John) and “No you!” (from Dave). It goes on for a few extra seconds _too_ long and you finally have to yell-whisper again that one of them better tell you fucking something or you were going to kill both of them very slowly and painfully with a pencil. (Emphasis on the word _slowly._ )

“Ooh kinky Karkitty. _Very_ kinky.” Dave says.

 

Both you and John are the ones who yell at _him_ to shut up.

 

* * *

 

You do end up going outside twenty minutes later, clad in jeans and one of your pink shirts (because your brother’s asshole fiancé had accidentally washed it when it was white with Kankri’s sweater. At least, you think it was by accident). John instantly opens his mouth but you stop him before he can make a comment on your twelve A.M. outfit. And by stopping him you mean you slap a hand over his mouth the second he opens the window and ask what the hell he and Dave were doing there.

John licks your hand (mega-gross because his tongue is all slimy and stuff) forcing you to pull back before answering. “Well Dave here thought it would be fun to take me out for a midnight stroll-”

 

“To Denny’s,” Dave adds. John rolls his eyes.

 

“No shit Dave! Where else would we go this early in the morning?”

 

Dave gives John a coy smile and asks if he was sure he didn’t mean “This late at night” to which John shoves his face aside and you throw your best late night/early morning scowl at him. 

 

“So why are you bombarding me if you to are going to go frolic in the land of burnt coffee, sadness, and one dollar bacon?” you ask.

 

Before Dave could say something dumb (like “Bacon is the gift from the gods”) John quickly says that he thought it would be cool if they invited you too. “Only if you want to come of course.” he adds hastily. “I mean, I know how pretty fucking serious you are about studying so if you don’t want to come we won’t force you.”

You open your mouth to say no shit you _weren’t_ going because this whole set up was stupid (it was like you were fucking crashing their date! Not to mention you had something called an _exam_ coming up!) but you’re words are stopped by those big, puppy dog eyes of John looking at you _that_ way. The way he looked at you when he convinced you to tag-team prank Dave. The way he looked at you when he secretly wanted something but didn’t want to say anything.

 

The words fucking die on your lips when you look over and see that Dave had lowered his sunglasses and is smiling at you.

 

It’s stupid. It’s pitiful. It’s ridiculous. And it’s not going to help your heart (or your test grades) but you find your hands twitching and the words “Fuck it” coming out of your mouth in a gravely tone as you walk to the back door of the car. “Drive my man bitches. Take me to land of milkshakes and bacon.”

 

John turns around to wink at you and tells Dave to step on it. 

 

* * *

 

Denny’s at twelve thirty A.M. wasn’t as empty as you thought. 

To your surprise, you see others around your guys’ age already huddled around tables, giggling softly as they drank soda and tapped their pencils on their textbooks “studying.” (It’s more of a breakfast party than a study party though.)

The waitress smiles brightly at you as she leads you three over to a table, asking if tonight was also a “late night” for you guys. John nods and tells her that you three actually had a test in less than eight hours “But we had to calm this guy out!” he says, slinging an arm around you and grinning. “Isn’t that right Dave?”

 

“Yup.” Dave says. “Poor sweet Karkitty’s head was burning off. You should’ve seen it. He was literally grilling seven year olds everywhere with his ‘evil high school senior stare’.”

 

You open your mouth to protest (because one: you couldn’t help it if you were grilling seven year olds, that’s just how your face always looked) and question (because two: they never said they were taking _you_ to Denny’s. Dave was taking John to Denny’s and you just tagged along. Right?) but are cut off by Dave asking the waitress if you three could actually get a circular booth. “Gotta get them bro cuddles in you know? Bros who bro cuddle are said to become better bros.”

“Bros for life!” John yells into you ear. You promptly shove him with a not so gentle “Fuck off you assmunching egg brain!” into _his_ ear. (Retaliation thy name is Karkat Vantas.)

The waitress pauses, looks over at the three of you, and nodded, the smile she was previously displaying somewhat faded as a different _look_ passes by her face. It’s a look that makes your blood turn to frozen icicles. The look is a look you recognize all too well. It’s a look that you’ve gotten used to seeing…. Then not used to seeing.

  
It’s the “Oh…. I’m dealing with _gays_ “ look.

 

It’s not a bad look but it’s not a good look either. It's a look that’s inevitable. It’s a look of someone who isn’t a bad guy or homophobic. Really it’s just a look of shock and “ _Well that’s something you don’t see everyday._ ” But still, it's a look that makes you feel uncomfortable and it’s a look that makes you feel… _angry_. Like annoyed angry. Like pissed off angry. Like wanting to argue or hit something angry.

 

It was probably because it’s been so _long_ since you’ve seen that _look_ that the flaring dragon of irritation begins raising its head again.

 

Because…who was she to judge bros hanging out? Who was she to care? She was smiling when she thought it was just a couple of classmates so why did her _look_ have to change now?

 

Why did she suddenly _look_ like that?

 

It’s nothing to get worked up over. It’s nothing to feel concerned about or even angry about. But maybe it was just the lateness of the night (or earliness of the day) and the stress already playing your tension filled body like a violin that makes you just want to fucking _snap_ at her.

 

* * *

 

Before you can listen to the rational part of your brain you can feel yourself tensing up and a sentence beginning with the letter “F” and ending with a “YOU” starting to form on your tongue as you glare lasers into the back of her head and-

  
You’re…stopped by somebody taking both of your hands and pulling you back.

 

You look to your left and right and see that it’s _them_ who are holding you back.

“Them” being Dave and John.

 

“Calm down.” John whispers, squeezing your right hand. “It’s alright Karkat. Just calm down.”

 

Your breathing slows down (when did it even speed the fuck up?) as you look from your hand to John’s.

 

“She didn’t mean anything by it.” Dave says to your left. “You _know_ she didn’t mean anything by it Karkat.”

 

You do know.

 

You take a deep breath and let the tension ease off your shoulders. You close your eyes and exhale slowly.

 

They were right you told yourself. They were right and you knew that they were right. You knew they were right because you already knew in the first place that it was _no ones fault_. There was no need to flip a triggered switch and go all Kankri on the lady because of some dumbass _look_ she gave you. Sure it wasn’t bad going Kankri in some cases….

 

But in this case, in this case now, it wasn’t worth it.

 

You open your eyes slowly, feeling calm and more…. centered. You look at first Dave and then at John.

 

“Thanks.” you whisper. They just grin and, pulling you by your hands, lead you to the table.

 

You look down and smile, loving how their hands feel around yours.

 

* * *

 

The late night dinner/ early morning breakfast was the most…. interesting one you ever had.

For one thing, you were still worried to the capital “W” about your exam. (So much fucking history. Too much fucking history) For another thing (was that even a saying? Fuck it, your brain was brain dead tired) you were currently sitting squished between John and Dave. 

Okay, not really _squished_ squished. They were far enough that you had to reach over to steal some of Dave’s fries and had to actually aim to flick a mini marshmallow into John’s face (so far you only successfully managed two shots), but you were still trapped between them and had to move your head constantly from left to right to laugh at one then yell at the other.

 

It gave you a headache.

 

It made your head spin.

 

(It gave you a heartache because you had to rapidly go from one laughing face to another with no. Fucking. Break.)

  

* * *

 

You’re giggling over something John said (that wasn’t particularly funny but made Dave mad so _fuck it_ ) when Dave whines that he couldn’t take John out _anywhere_ if he was going to constantly demote his cool kid status in front of you. That makes you mentally pause (even though your mouth is still laughing) as the thought of _you_ being included with _them_ suddenly passes by your brain.

A part of you yells to not question it because you didn’t need to deal with this shit hours before your test (your big fucking test!) but the other part of you (the curious “Karkitty” part of you) wonders what the fuck Dave meant by that.

 

So you play if off as joke (as you usually do. As you always do.)

 

“I don’t need you guys inviting me out to know that Dave is just a sad sack of wanna-be cool in shades,” you snide. “I also don’t need a degree in jokester fuckery to be able to do this.”

 

You flick another marshmallow at John who, unfortunately, catches it in his mouth.

 

“You wound me Karkat.” Dave says, pulling you by the collar of your pink shirt to ruffle your head. “And here Egbert and I were, taking you out on this beautiful whatever the A.M. to enchant the pants off of you.”

You grin (but your heart does another one of those horrible tugs) and say that the two better up their game if they wanted to romance you. Your head screams to stop this weird, horrible form of torture (that regular humans called _flirting_ ) but you can only force yourself to keep smiling and aim a kick to John’s shins.

“Oh ‘up our game’ huh?” John teases. “Guess we gotta invite you out more then.” He smiles. “Me and Dave are going to have a bro-over this weekend at Dave’s because Dirk is _away_ right?” 

“Far-fucking away.” Dave says. “He’s doing it like the rabbits and island jumping it with jungle glasses wild kid.” Dave grins. “Get it? ‘Jumping’ as in bunnies that jump? And bunnies also have crazy frick-fracks so ‘doing the do’ is-”

You clap a hand over Dave’s mouth (the one that John didn’t lick) and tell them of-fucking course you’ll be there if Dave will stop with the bunnies in heat euphemisms. “Seriously, what kind of fucked up mistake did past me do to piss you guys off like this?” you complain.

 

Dave and John just brofist above you.

 

* * *

 

The test went smoothly enough.

 

Kankri of course panicked when he couldn’t find you and lectured your ear off about how an abuse of trust was highly triggering and that he had been worried sick ever since he noticed the lights were still on in your room but your shoes were gone and that he called your phone twenty times but you didn't pick up and he was all ready to report to the police if it wasn’t for Cronus calming him down and-

He then suddenly goes silent and… _sighs_ before sinking into the couch, red faced.

 

“I was so fucking worried Karkat.” he mumbles. “You never do something like that and I…I was just…” he sighs again. “I was worried.”

Your mind flashes back to a past, more broken version of your brother and you immediately feel bad.

 

“I’m…. sorry.” you say, hoping that he hears how much you mean it. “I know I should’ve told you or something but…. it was so sudden….”

Kankri slowly peeks up at you and raises his head. He then reaches over to give a slight pap to your cheek, like he used to do when you were just a bratty kid.

 

“You’re so old now Karkat.” he says, as if he just noticed it now, in this very fucking moment. “You’re going to be turning seventeen and applying to college and _going_ to college and…and…. and I’m….”

Kankri looks away from you again before continuing. “What I mean is…. You’re growing up so fast.” he whispers. “You’re growing up and maybe…. maybe I don’t like that.” He pulls his legs up to his chest and says, in a scared voice,

 

“Everything is going to change soon. And I guess…I guess I’m scared.”

 

There’s a silence that overtakes the living room as Kankri keeps his gaze down, almost as if he was ashamed of himself. Looking at him like this makes the past image of Kankri return to your brain:

 

The Kankri that had been forced to go through so many changes in so little time at such a young age.

And you can’t help but wonder how much _fear_ your brother is feeling right now.

 

You take his hand and hold it until he looks up.

 

“What’s going to happen,” you say slowly. “Is that you’re going to be the best fucking bride this side of the universe ever saw.” Kankri’s eyes widen and you continue.

“You’re going to graduate college and go off to give speeches that people will actually fucking listen to.” you say. “You’re going to be so much more than what anyone ever fucking expected of you.”

 

Kankri swallows nervously.

 

“I’m still scared though.” he confesses. “Like, what if something happens and I have to drop out? Or what if we don’t have enough money? Or what if Cronus and I break up because he can’t wait that fucking long to marry me? Or what if…What if…?”

His words begin to slip as the panic of the big _unknown_ overwhelms him.

 

You sigh.

 

“Listen shitstain,” you say. “You are panicking over nothing. I’m still hella sorry that I didn't contact you but I’m not worried about anything that happens to you or Cronus or us. _We’ve_ been through a lot.”

You don’t say what you were going to say but by the look Kankri gives you, you know that he understands fully.

 

_You were all going to be fucking okay._

You suddenly grin cheekily. “Besides,” you say teasingly. “After what I can imagine to be _years_ and _years_ waiting, Cronus isn’t going to just flake before he can get a piece of your ass.”

 

Your brother’s face turns red and you abscond the fuck out of the living room before he can yell more about how much you “triggered” him.

 

* * *

 

It’s the Friday after the whole shitstorm of tests, studying and late night texts with group chat called “The Best Group Chat on This Side of Skaia” (previously known as “john egbert’s a fucking tattletale” previously previously known as “it was Dave!” previously previously previously known as “WHO THE FUCK STOLE MY WALLET?!?!?”) when you find yourself being pulled into Dave’s apartment with said home-owning Strider grinning a shit eating grin at you.

“We’re comparing grades.” he says. “Guess who got straight A’s Karkitty?”

 

You roll your eyes. “That’s easy,” you say. “Rose, Kanaya and totally not fucking me.”

 

A look of “oh shit” passes by Dave’s face but you shove him slightly. “Dude you know I fucking suck at science, no need to look at me like that.” you say. “Don’t give me that ‘kicked puppy Egbert look’ or I will hit you.”

Dave just nods, almost as if not trusting himself, and moves aside to let you in. You shove him (because that’s how you show affection) and tell him to get his head out of his ass. “Where’s John anyway?” you ask.

There’s a “beep” noise followed by a “SHIT! Dave! The popcorn is attacking me!”

 

Dave grimaces.

 

“Where do you think?” he asks.

 

* * *

 

Just like John’s house, Dave’s apartment is familiar but not familiar. The same, but not the same. Real but also almost magically unreal. 

There were still the pictures of baby Dave that you remembered from when you were in middle school and there were still the creepy dolls scattered every-fucking-where.

But there were also high school pictures and a lot more wires on the floor (leading into one closest which you guess must be Dave’s turntable closest) and there were lines of pictures strung all along the walls (causing tiny water stains to form on said wall.)

You’re surprised when you find a note, wedged in-between one of the puppet’s ass (you tried not to think about that mental image for the rest of eternity) with your name on it (with an extra “s” on the end of “Vantas”). Gingerly, you reach down and, using your thumb and forefinger, pick it up. Flipping it over to the back your surprised to see, in orange, slightly loopy script, a note from Dave’s brother of all people. 

It’s a short note, nothing more than a blunt _“Vant-ass. Missed your face. Sorry I couldn’t be there to give you a Strider welcome. Tell Kankri Mozel Tov on the proposal. –Dirk,”_ but it still makes you feel…welcomed nonetheless.

Welcome, but also a bit guilty.

 

Guilty, just like you felt at John’s house. Like a feeling of missed opportunities and what-could’ve-been's.

 

But still,

 

It’s still the same apartment you remember going to and remember sleeping over at. It’s still the same apartment that you played video games at when you were just a kid. 

But now, looking at Dave and John beckoning you to the couch, popcorn bowl in hand, you realize that this apartment, like everything else, had changed.

 

* * *

 

You, Dave, and John sit on the couch, with the dating duo cuddling and you holding the popcorn bowl close to your chest (John had elected himself popcorn holder before a quick look, and blush, from you had him turning red and passing the bowl to you. Seems like the dick grabbing thoughts hadn’t left his head either.) You’re watching wide-eyed at the horrible shitshow in front of you (and maybe muttering to yourself that Dave was lying and Gwen Stacey will NOT die in the end like he told you) when Dave tells you to move the popcorn bowl to the floor. You wordlessly comply, eyes still glues to the television, and move the bowl to the floor. 

It’s ten seconds later that you’re pulled into a side hug from Dave. A shocked look crosses your face as Dave shushes you and tells you he’s performing bro cuddles and bro cuddles only now.

 

“Fuck off.” you say, beginning to pull away. John however stops you with an arm grab.

 

“Stay.” he says.

 

Against your better judgment, you do.

 

* * *

 

The three of you are playing Uno when John casually (maybe not _too_ casually as you saw him looking at Dave at least ten times before looking at you) asks if he could ask you a question.

You slam down a yellow skip (“Suck it John! Suck my metaphoric Uno card dick!”) before you look up at him and ask what the fuck John was talking about. “Of course you can dipshit.” you say, mentally wondering if you should play your “Draw 2” now or later (Dave would kill either way). “We’re friends so you don’t need to be so fucking formal.”

 

You glance at John (half wondering how he would react to that “friends” comment) and see John biting his lips nervously.

“It’s just,” he begins. “This is kind of a…. personal question I guess?”

 

You roll your eyes. “John I’m an almost seventeen year old male who wants to write romance novels and only goes after dicks.” you say. “What about my life _isn’t_ personal?”

 

John hesitates, words caught on his tongue, before answering, in a shaky voice,

“How about…. how about what happened to you after we…y’know…. fought.”

 

Oh.

 

“Oh.” you say out loud. Maybe that was a bit too personal. “Well uh…”

 

Dave puts his cards down, removes his shades, and looks straight at you. “I’d actually…. like to hear that too.” he says. “I’d like to know what…. your brother didn’t tell me.”

 

Oh.

 

“Oh.” you say again. “Well…. well….”

 

Your breath catches and for a split-second you feel like you’re chocking on the oxygen around you because they’re looking at you and you want to _disappear_. You want to vanish into the earth. You want Dave’s shitty carpet to swallow you whole or you want a meteorite to crash into his room and burn you alongside all his shitty posters.

 

You want to _not be there._

 

Instead, you take a deep breath.

 

“This isn’t going to be easy to…. listen to…” you say. “I mean it’s like…. like….” you cough nervously. “It’s like someone made a huge shitty buffet and I was the unfortunate buffet goer holding the unfortunate buffet plate and I just collected all this shitty food until I was bursting from the inside with shittiness.”

You cough again, trying to clear your throat and stall for time. “I mean…if you guys really want to hear it sure but I don’t think it’s the best-”

 

“We want to hear it.” they say at the same time.

 

You don’t know how they did it. Maybe it was some telepathic dating thing. Maybe it was some telepathic boyfriend thing. Maybe they were both just born with the power of perfect synchronization. Whatever it was, the way they were looking at you made you want to tell them. Made you want to confess to them. Made you want to spill your guts out to them.

 

So you fucking do.

 

* * *

 

You start with John. 

You start with what happened after he left. How you felt lonely and friendless and so… _so_ lost without him. You throw in bits and pieces of what you can remember before that too. About how you hated him because he ruined your shirt, about how you complained about him all the time,

 

About how….your father had made you shut up.

 

You don’t like talking about your father. He’s forbidden territory even between you and Kankri (Cronus at least had the decency to not touch that conversation topic with a ten foot pole) but even so you feel like you need to…mention him at least.

 

Then, after John, you skip to after Dave left.

Just like John, you threw in several parts about how you two were bros, but for the most part you talk about how much you missed him after he left. You talk about meeting your brother’s fiancé and seeing Kankri blush and act so un-Kankri like for the first time in your life.

 

Then you talk about high school.

You talk about how you got triggered in the library when someone called you a faggot. You talk about how you weren’t trying to defend yourself, but someone you loved.

 

You talk about what happened after.

 

Then you can’t stop talking about what happened after.

 

It’s words that you never knew you had still in you that flow out like a broken dam. It’s more words than your body can handle. It’s more words than your mind can handle. It’s more words than your heart can handle. It’s more words than _you_ can handle.

 

You’re hiccupping before you know it. Your words are slurring before you know it. You’re rubbing something out of your eyes before you know it.

 

It’s all coming together in some poisonous goop of a word vomit that you choke on and it just keeps _going_ and _going_ and _going_ and soon it feels like you are actually real life vomiting and you're crying and rubbing your eyes so hard they hurt.

 

“I-I didn’t want to come.” you sobbed. “I really didn’t want to come to Skaia.”

 

You tell them you were scared and you were terrified of what might happen. You tell them how you didn’t know back then why you were scared to see them but now knew. Now knew after analyzing it and talking it over with Kanaya, Rose, and _yourself._

 

You didn’t want them to see how pathetic being alone made you. You didn’t want them to see the bitter, unloved, uncared for _you_. You didn’t want them to see the “you” you were without them.

 

“I missed you guys.” you blubber. “I loved you guys. You guys were my best fucking friends and I…. I….”

 

You’re heaving now. Air can’t get through to you and you have to take gasps of it and let it shudder and snake down your body. Your nose is beyond stuffed, your eyes are beyond red. You’re not even crying anymore, just still _breathing_ and _breathing_ and _breathing,_ until your arms are trembling and you need to close your eyes.

 

* * *

 

 

There’s a warmth to your left side.

Followed by a warmth to your right side.

There’s a touch on your left.

Followed by a touch on your right.

 

There’s a kiss on your right cheek.

 

There’s a kiss on your left cheek.

 

There are hugs from both sides you.

And you just let yourself melt into the shared embrace.

 

* * *

 

 

That’s how you wake up the next day: all three of you tangled, together, on the floor. Just you, Dave, and John.

You blink sleep from your eyes and feel their arms and feel their heat and smell their scents and you wait for the familiar pain to bombard your heart,

 

But you feel nothing.

 

_You feel nothing._

 

You don’t feel sad at all. You don’t feel empty. You don’t feel confused.

 

You feel whole. You feel safe. You feel loved.

 

You feel right.

 

* * *

 

The summer before your senior year there was no lie that something _something_ changed between you three. Suddenly, it wasn’t you and John or you and Dave or John and Dave with you tagging along.

 

No, now it was you and Dave and John _together._

 

It felt weird at first. You honestly felt like you were intruding on their dates and that you were being nothing more than a nuisance to them. Twice you had tried to ignore their texts and messages, not wanting to get between them, only to find them outside your apartment door, knocking on it with knocks that could only be done by a couple of idiots.

“It’s your boyfriends again.” Cronus teased to you as you sat at your laptop, typing away furiously at some writing project for your college application. “Looks like they wanna take you out.”

Boyfriends. That’s how Cronus was now teasing you. He used the term whenever the two showed up and at first you were embarrassed, mad, and worried for what _they_ might think of the title.

 

But soon…. soon you began to notice what you could only imagine Cronus (and probably Kankri) picked up on:

 

A blush from Dave. An averted eye look from John. A nervous smile from both as John said something like “Geez we’re just friends!” (A line, you noticed, people only said in romance novels when there was something “behind the scenes” happening to said childhood friend.) This happened every time Cronus teased out the word, long and slow, _boyfriends._

With an “s.” As in two guys plus another guy thus making three guys. _Boyfriends._

The word itself excited you. It made you happy. It made you feel like this, whatever the loving fuck _this_ was, was right. Was okay. Was fine.

 

However,

 

It didn’t do anything to ease your nightmarish thoughts that hunted you at night. It did nothing to cull the wrath of your brain whispering to your heart how fucked up you were and how much of an idiotic, young, stupid thinkpan brain you had.

Because after all, this was just your life _now._

It would be over in a blink of an eye.

 

It would be over and done with within a year.

 

You all were going your separate ways so why focus on what was happening _now_ when the all-terrifying _later_ was coming?

 

You make yourself think these thoughts and repeat them, over and over, while you tossed and turned in your bed. You did it to talk yourself down and to destroy what little chance of hope you think you had with them.

But of course, it didn’t work.

 

(In fact…. it did the opposite.)

 

* * *

 

It’s the day before your birthday (the first time in your life you’re having it NOT coincide with a school day. Thank god for fucking private school) and you're waiting, phone ready in hand, for Kankri to finally, _finally,_ get out of the fucking closet.

 

Well, actually more of a dressing room than a closet.

 

With Kanaya on your right (“It was a deal. I make the veil and Porrim makes the dress.”) you yell at Kankri to get his ass out and show the fucking dress already. To which Kankri replies that one: he is being triggered, two: he doesn’t feel comfortable, and three: “Porrim I cannot afford this with the budget I have!”

“You don’t need to!” Porrim yells back (even though she’s right there in the closet/dressing room with him) “Besides, this is just the sample dress Kankri. The _real_ dress is going to at least take me a few months to make. These are just a few dresses I made to get a good idea for your body type.”

You hear your brother groan and begin a speech (“I am beginning to feel you only do this to trigger me Porrim! The thought of someone like me presenting myself like this is utterly and completely-!”) before there’s a sudden crash and a yelp and Kankri trips out of the dressing room.

 

In a dress.

 

In a fucking dress.

 

In a short, slightly frilled, red summer dress.

 

It’s no wedding dress (as Porrim had already said) and it’s obvious that it's a sample dress (you can see the pins all over its skirt) but you can see why Porrim chose this dress to test on your brother in first.

 

Because it fits him. It fits Kankri. He’s wearing a dress. He’s a guy wearing a dress and he looks like a guy wearing a dress. But instead of it looking awkward or even strange…

 

It fits him.

 

Kankri looks at you, his face red and with words of rage and complaint on his lips, as if he’s trying to get you to help him out of this situation, only to…stop. His face seems to pale and he quickly looks away, as if he’s….

 

A confused expression comes over your own face.

 

As if your brother is…. ashamed.

 

“What?” Kankri asks, but his breath catches, like he’s choking a little. “Why are you looking at me like that K-Karkat?” he stutters. He ducks his head down and says very _very_ softly,

 

“Does seeing your brother in a dress really…d-disgust you that much?”

 

His voice falls at the end (as if he’s trying to hide behind his own words) and he’s refusing to look back at you, but you can tell by the way he shakes a little that he’s…. he’s…

He’s not angry he’s wearing a dress. He’s not embarrassed that he’s wearing a dress.

He’s…. ashamed of looking like _this_ in front of you.

 

_“This”_ being a state of total, complete _innocence._

 

Your eyes seem to stutter and blink several times as you realize this. Kankri was ashamed that you were seeing him this _vulnerable_ but in a way that Kankri secretly _wanted._ He was ashamed that he didn’t look like the “strong manly brother” that he had to be _right now_. He was ashamed because the dress had transformed him into someone who wanted to be _cared for_ and _protected_.

 

He was ashamed of that.

 

In response, you take a deep breath and say, in a voice that you know is your own but sounds a million miles away from you,

 

“You look beautiful Kankri.”

 

He snaps his head back to you and, with large confused eyes, asks you, to repeat yourself. “I-I think…I-I must’ve….” he splutters. 

You smile and repeat what you said.

 

(You swear you saw Kankri’s eyes shining with pride.)

 

“Really?” he asks.

You nod and tell him, yes really the dress looked fucking great on him. There was no way in hell you were lying when it came to potential white wedding dresses and veils for young, complaining, proposal accepting youths. “Not that you’re one of those asshats.” you say quickly. “There’s a difference between you and them.”

Kankri smiles and looks down, a happy expression on his face.

 

“Aw! You guys are gonna make me cry!” Porrim says, wiping a possible real tear (Or was it fake? Hell, you couldn't tell) from her cheek. Kankri jumps and turns to face Porrim, but she waves away his potential words and draws him into a big hug. “I can’t believe you’re getting married!” she gushes excitedly. “And you’re going to be wearing my dress too!”

 

Porrim sighs dreamily then looks at you.

 

“Kankri used to tell me back in high school that he wanted to live without regrets and do things _his_ way and that he wasn’t taking shit from _anyone._ ” Porrim grins before adding that she was “Glad Kankri was finally listening to his own fucking advice for once.”

Your brother splutters indignantly and, while he pulls away to lecture a Cheshire Cat looking Porrim (“Porrim stop laughing at me! I know that you are!”) you feel a tug on your sleeve. A quick glance back at Kanaya, confirms that she is said sleeve tug-er and, with a confused look on your face, you ask her what was wrong.

“Nothing’s wrong Karkat” she says. “It’s just…. that’s good advice don’t you think?” Her eyes shine in that Maryam way as she says that “Living without any…. _regrets_ was a very important thing.”

 

(You can’t help but…. agree with her.)

 

* * *

 

It’s the day of your birth, the day you were born, the day you were one year closer to adulthood,

 

That makes you feel so so _so_ fucking childish.

 

You had done the traditional birthday stuff (a strawberry pancake breakfast made by Kankri and a water balloon shot to Cronus’ face. He let you nail him with a water balloon every birthday in exchange for him doing the same to you on his birthday. Kankri could only shake his head at the strange, _strange_ relationship the two of you shared.) when your door is suddenly attacked by a series of knocks (that sound more like the firing of BB guns). Cronus grins at you as he wipes his wet face on Kankri’s shirt. (You have to bite your lip to keep from laughing as you watch Kankri flail around helplessly.)

“The boyfriends I’m guessing?” Cronus says.

You roll your eyes (as exaggerated as possible. In fact, so exaggerated that your head actually hurts) and tell him to shut the fuck up. Kankri opens his mouth to correct you, only to yelp as he fucking _slips out_ of his shirt and fall helplessly to the kitchen ground.

 

Your laughter is, in one word, deafening.

 

Kankri shoots you a glare and you know that _that’s_ your cue to abscond.

You quickly rush to the door and throw it open. “Car now.” you say before John and Dave could begin singing (or rapping) the “Happy Birthday” song (they had the Bluetooth speaker out and everything). You gesture with your hands towards your kitchen and tell them that Kankri was going to start lecturing. (Again.) John and Dave look at each other, then back at you. “With pleasure.” John says, pulling you by the arm.

“We’ll be taking Princess Vantas here!” Dave yells teasingly. “We’ll send a card when we all get eloped!”

 

You can hear Kankri struggling to put his shirt back on, chiding the whole time that Cronus should’ve used a towel to dry his face and that you had the _nerve_ to laugh at him in his hour of need. John responds to your brother’s spiel by saying that whatever informalities “Princess Karkat Vantas” was forced to hear today would be blocked by the “Two greatest junior magician mage knights in the world” and would become null and void.

 

(From where you stand in the doorway it’s impossible to miss the very loudly yelled “BOYFRIENDS!” from Cronus.)

 

Your face burns, your cheeks hurt from grinning, you’re breathing heavily due to laughing so hard, and you’ve never felt more _childishly_ happy. 

And maybe this happiness goes to your brain and acts like some kind of weird drug because, before you can even process what happy-intoxicated Karkat is doing, you had already swung both your arms around Dave and John and told them that they, despite how stupid and idiotic and utter shittingly pathetic they were, were the absolute fucking best people a boy could ask for.

(You swear by the deep blue seas of the Californian coast that they _both_ turn red.)

 

“W-well we have to be!” John chirps (though his voice noticeably catches a little), “There’s a lot we have to make up for!”

 

(You’re too busy smiling and just enjoying being _there_ with _them_ on your fucking _birthday_ to pick up the hidden guilt behind John’s words.)

 

* * *

 

(It’s later that night, the night of your birthday, after spending hours and hours with John and Dave watching movies, playing games, and just feeling happy, that you look at yourself in the bathroom mirror and take a deep breath. You force yourself to look into your own eyes and then…. begin.)

(You tell yourself that you were a year older now. That you were going to take another step towards adulthood. That you were saying goodbye to the old Karkat Vantas one step at a time.) 

(You take another deep breath and, after releasing it slowly, tell the reflected Vantas image that you were in love with your two best friends. That you hated that you loved them both. That you despised yourself for feeling this way.)

 

(But…. that you were also not going to live with any regrets.)

 

(You tell yourself that the countdown starts _now._ )

 

(You tell yourself that this time next year, all your friends will be separated. That you will not be able to see each other as often as you’re doing now. That this moment, _this moment,_ will not last.)

 

(And you were not going to waste another second of it.)

 

* * *

 

(Your name is Karkat Vantas.)

(You are in love with your two best friends.)

 

(Your two best friends names are John Egbert and Dave Strider.)

(They are two different people and they are already dating each other.)

 

(But…despite this…. And despite the fact that you were scared as all living, breathing, and dying hell…)

(You were going to tell _them_ how you felt in this upcoming final last year of high school.)

(You were going to live without regrets.)

 

(You were going to do this.)

 

(You were making this happen.)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been writing some short scripts for the most amazing VA on tumblr (scotchcarousel) and a story for an amazing tumblr-er too (ask-the-swapped-pumpkinpatch)! Writing is fun. I'm going to do more. I WANT to see the end of this story. I love this story. I love it so much.
> 
> ALso a seven year old schooled me at UNO like five times.
> 
> Also also....college.


	12. High School: Karkat and Kankri

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALERT ALERT ALERT: MAJOR EDITS HAVE OCCURED
> 
> This chapter I reread and it was BULLSHIT. Like I hated it and what was I thinking. So it went into editng hell and now its been SPLIT INTO TWO PARTS. Its is way BETTER NOW. I AM SO SORRY.
> 
> (Also please someone help me find typos.)

Your brother is three shades of red as Dave continues to take “beauty shots” of him with his dumb hot pink disposable camera. (Where the everlasting fuck he got that camera you had no idea. You didn’t even know CVS still sold disposable cameras!) It’s hilarious to watch and you and John struggle to keep from laughing by biting your respective knuckles (hard). Still more than one snort exits John’s nose and more than once you maybe not-so-charmingly choke on a laugh.

Kankri begins to fidget nervously and you can tell that he is becoming more and more uncomfortable with every overly dramatic camera flash and every overly dramatically “Pa-choo!” sound that Dave yells. (“That’s not what a camera sounds like Dave!” “As if you ever picked up a camera that wasn’t a glorified plastic cousin to the almighty Easy-Bake oven John.” “I make an oven out of Legos _one time_ and you never let me live it down!”)

You had been at what felt like the thousandth dress fitting (Porrim was more serious about this dress business than you gave her credit for. Perhaps that was why she was able to open a store so quickly after snatching her degree from the jaws of the educational institution. They had attempted to keep her there for the usual four years but Porrim, like a machine that could kill and make a cup of tea while knitting a scarf, graduated in three. Kanaya was either a very lucky little sister or very _very_ unlucky little sister), typing up some short story ideas (you particularly like the one you have about the ghost who came back to life only to fall in love with his pseudo boyfriend all over again), when Dave had texted you that he and John were “springing a trap.” This should’ve raised some red flags but past you had instead been a confused fuck and sent a series of question marks that would rival any thirteen year old chat window.

 

Dave had then sent you a text of him and John outside of Porrim’s shop pointing at a mop of ugly brown hair, with the underlying message of “We found the cryptid!”

(You were the cryptid and you knew it.)

 

Before you can even comprehend how the fuck these two idiots even managed to find you, they were bursting through the door and John was yelling “Paparazzi! Freeze and look gorgeous!” Kankri had made a sound akin to a chicken being stepped on and losing its HP points like in Zelda and you had oh so kindly ignored his mental “Get these two out of here Karkat!” and instead invited them to stay.

Porrim had just smiled, winked at you, nudged your brother, and continued on with the dress fitting, painting the perfect poker face of concentration on her face as Kankri angrily tried to get her attention.

 

(You and John take one too many pictures and one too many selfies on Dave’s actual phone while he photo shoots Kankri. It will screw with his data storage. It is the best form of revenge.)

 

* * *

 

It’s after what Dave claims to be “his greatest shot in the history of all things dead and living” (he had said a slightly higher pitched “Pa-choo” noise) that Kankri coughs and tries to get your attention by throwing his shoe at you when Porrim was looking away.

(You dodged said oncoming shoe. You truly have the nicest slickest skills.)

 

“If I may state my personal opinion here,” he says, glaring at you as you teasingly wave his left sneaker in the air with an expression of obviously fake innocence. “I would highly appreciate it Karkat if you told your friend here to possibly stop taking pictures of me. I find it quite triggering and offensive to be photographed in this way and-”

Your brother than yelps as Porrim, who had been fixing the hem of the skirt he was wearing (“I’m not feeling the short style on you Kanny. Perhaps a longer skirt may be more suited for your big day.” “Does this mean…more fittings?” “Yes Kankri. This will most certainly mean more fittings. Now don’t pout and try on this A-line for me.”) not so accidentally pokes him with a needle.

(She was totally not grinning as she did so. Nope. Not at all.)

 

“Oh hush,” she says as Kankri whips his head around to glare at her (she ignores said glare) “They’re just teasing you Kankri. You remember what affectionate teasing was, right? Or were those days in high school all pumped out of your brain and flushed down the toilet?”

 Kankri snarls slightly and Porrim threateningly holds up her needle again. He stops snarling.

 

“I remember specifically not wearing a skirt all those years ago,” he mutters, looking down at the fabric that hung against his hips and covered his legs. (He looks nice in a longer skirt and you can see why Porrim thought this style would “suit him” more. Still you can’t wait until the final product is done. Then again, Kankri hadn’t even announced a general wedding day and you had an inkling that he would try to just get a court marriage and wear the dress at the court marriage after party. Porrim would not be pleased.) “And I also remember you telling me to protect my virginity from horny bastards and putting condoms in my bag whenever you passed me in the halls,” Kankri adds.

“Well now I’m telling you to hush up and seduce that sea bastard. Nut the hell up and shit,” Porrim says calmly as if she was telling Kankri to go buy her a soda. But there’s twinkle in her eyes that you don’t miss and you are pretty sure Kankri saw it as well.

 

You and John then proceed to change your laughs into fake gagging noises and Dave proceeds to take more “Pa-choo” photos of Kankri’s face with his _second_ disposable camera.

(He truly did everything for irony and if you weren’t covering your ears right now you would hurl your brother’s shoe at him.)

 

“Porrim!” Kankri screeches and he almost topples from where he stands as his face becomes a _brighter_ red. “The fact that you are talking about my…my…you know in front of children is completely triggering! I feel that as someone who is a guardian to Karkat it is completely unprofessional to-!”

He’s cut off by another yelp when Porrim maybe (definitely) stabs him with a needle (again.)

 “Is ‘virginity’ that hard to say Vantas?” she says, giving a cheeky grin as Kankri rubs the supposed (definitely) stabbed spot. He narrows his eyes at her and you can see that your brother wants to “affectionately” strangle Porrim. She just kisses his cheek and continues to smile as Kankri grimaces and wipes the lipstick from his face. “You can’t treat him like a kid forever you know.”

 

Kankri rubs the lipstick from his palms and grumbles unhappily that he knows that you aren’t and weren’t a kid anymore. “I was there when he started preschool,” he says. “I was there to help him with his math homework you know!”

(John nudges you slightly in an “Ah yes, the days of youth I remember that too” way. You shove him off his chair and laugh as his butt hits the ground.)

 

“Then why haven’t you given him the sex talk then?” Porrim teases innocently. “Has he gone all these years without learning about the birds and the little bees?” She laughs and adds another accidental stab as Kankri yells out trigger warnings.

 

* * *

 

 

You’re surprised when, one evening, you get a call from John’s dad.

Not from John, but from his dad. From John’s own father. From Mr. Egbert-Briefcase-Stupendous-Hat-Greenest-Thumb-Ever himself. His voice is light and cheerful and your hands shake as he asks how your day was, if you were enjoying your summer, and what you were currently doing.

 

“Just writing and stuff,” you confess. You and Kankri were alone in the apartment (Cronus had an internship and wouldn’t be back until four) and your brother had been reading some article online that he disagreed with immensely (if his angry mutterings gave anything away.) There’s a pause and you can almost hear the gears working in the Eg-brain of Mr. Egbert from over the line. As if he wanted to ask something but was trying to find the best way to rip off the bandage and not take a mountain of skin and hair with it.

 

“Is your…. brother currently with you?” he asks and there’s a nervous twinge in his voice, like what John did whenever he wanted to say something but kept it in instead. You frown and, a bit confused, you say yes, Kankri was currently with you. “Do you want to talk to him?” you ask and Mr. Egbert quickly says no. That he doesn’t want to speak to your brother. At least, he doesn’t want to speak with him over the phone. “I was actually hoping that you and your brother would come over today,” he says and the gears in _your_ mind stop, freeze, and then begin turning backwards as a rush of panic tickles into your back.

 

(Nothing was worse than a grown up acting mysterious and cagey, God were you in trouble? Were you about to get your ass handed to you? Was Mr. Egbert finally coming to the epic conclusion that you made tiny chibi John an upset child and he was going to enact his revenge on you?)

(Shut up mind. You were cool with John’s dad. You think. You know. You think you know.)

(Holy fuck what was going through Mr. Egbert’s mind?)

 

“W-why?” you stutter out and Mr. Egbert just chuckles lightly. “You’re not in trouble Karkat if that’s what you’re wondering,” he says and you relax only a fraction of your body (the area near your thighs is still clenched in fear though). “I only wish to speak to Kankri about something and I want you to be there as well.”

Kankri? He wanted to speak to….Kankri? You glance at your brother and see that he is looking at you with large eyes and a questioning brow. You shake your head, confused as well.

“Why in the fu- I mean, world do I need to come?” you ask hesitantly. Maybe you could avoid such an awkward encounter by slipping away to Kanaya’s or Rose’s or even Dave’s. Anything to avoid the possible shit show that might-

“I baked chocolate chip cookies.”

 

(Damn it he knows all your weakness. Curse the Egbert family and their baking abilities.)

 

* * *

 

“Me?” Kankri asks the second you put down the phone and explain to him that Mr. Egbert wanted to speak to him ASAP about something that he wouldn't disclose over the phone. “Why would he want to speak to me? I-I barely know the man Karkat! I don’t think I even talked to him before!”

He’s panicking and you don’t blame him. Kankri’s never really met a lot of parents before and had never talked about meeting parents before (though he had mentioned that he had Skype met Cronus’ dad. Sadly, Cronus’ mom was still as MIA as his younger brother). He bites his lip nervously and asks you (as if you were the parent) if he really, truly, had to go.

You told him yes. Yes he had to.

(Your brother all of a sudden looks too nervous, too pale, too scared, and too _small_. This….worries you.)

 

John offers to pick you two up and the entire car ride is so quiet that you actually consider calling Dave just to let him fill the god-awful Prius with his god-awful voice. You miss his yammering and oddly wish that he was here too. At least, you wish he was here to break the tension. Because Kankri is in fact _disturbingly_ silent during the whole car ride, biting his lips and pulling at the skin every time you looked at him.

You can only imagine what he feels like now.

He must feel like the walls are slowly creeping in and dragging themselves to him. He must feel like his skin is too hot and that his sweat is too cold. He must feel too big for his body. Too small for his body. He must feel his bile bubbling up inside of him, looking for a way out.

(You feel bad for him.)

 

You turn to John tap his shoulder lightly. “What’s going to happen?” you quietly ask him. To your surprise, John shakes his head.

“Your guess is as good as mine Karkat,” he says.

 

* * *

 

John’s dad greets you two at the door and you watch as Kankri, stiff as a new board made by a master craftsmen from HGTV, freezes next to you.

(Fuck you love _Fixer Upper_. Chip and Joanne with their millions of kids? Now that was relationship goals.)

He seems to shrink when he sees the father Egbert and you shoot him a confused look that he ignores by dropping his gaze.

 

“Hello boys,” Mr. Egbert says and Kankri tenses, mutters a quick hello then side steps behind you, as if he was trying to hide his few inches of height behind your hair. Which isn't a lot. (Both your hair and his height.)

You’re confused as to why the hell he’s breathing into your head and you watch as Mr. Egbert frowns at your brother’s antics as if he was…. disappointed. No, he was upset you think. Upset at something but you didn’t know what.

It occurs to you that this is the first time he is meeting Kankri and this is the first time he is meeting the brother that you had spent your elementary days complaining about. That this was the “Dumbo in the red sweater who never learned how to shut up” and-  _wow whatever the fuck this little powwow was it was getting off to a bad start huh?_  

 

There’s a moment where your gaze shifts from Egbert to brother to other Egbert (John looks as constipated with fear as you are) before Mr. Egbert finally welcomes you two in and directs you into the too-hot kitchen. Out of the corner of your eye you see John’s nose immediately crinkle and you can practically hear the “More baking dad? Really? Tell me what’s wrong with this picture,” coming from him but he doesn’t.

John doesn’t say anything. He just looks at his dad as if he was….

As if he was waiting and watching.

 

* * *

 

The July heat seeps into the four of you as you all gather around a plate of melting cookies (Egbert had promised and Egbert had delivered.) Your brother eyes them (hungrily?) but says nothing as you begin to, at John’s soft urging, indulge. (They tasted so. Fucking. Good. Better than Insomnia. Mr. Egbert could buy out Insomnia and replace it with his Egbert-Crocker brand and no one would complain. At least you wouldn’t.)

Your brother instead chooses to finally look at Mr. Egbert, straight in the eyes, for the first time since he entered the house.

There’s still a hesitation there but you notice that (as you chew and let melted chips smear over your taste buds) his expression begins to change. Going from hesitant, to blank, to confused, then to…. angry. Annoyed.

 

You blink.

 

You watch as a scowl curls up on his lips and the air around him becomes dangerous and cold. There’s a cold, _cold_ stare down going on between Mr. Egbert and Kankri that you don’t understand and you nudge John, trying to get his attention, to ask what the fuck was happening.

“John,” you say, accidentally spitting crumbs (you’re too worried to care.) “What’s-?”

To your surprise, John shushes you and quietly points to Kankri. You look over and nearly double face palm in embarrassment.

 

Your brother’s expression is now outwardly glaring at John’s dad and- _wow this really is the worse introduction ever isn’t it?_

 

But it’s Kankri’s next words that really have you choking on the chocolate remains of sweetness in your mouth. Has you choking so badly that John has to slap you on your back twice.

He takes a deep breath then, as if psyching himself up, closes his eyes, opens them and says, in a voice that lacks warmth, kindness, and _fear,_

“If you’re going to return us to our father I’ll have you know that I’ve been doing quite well without that monstrosity of a waste of human space breathing down my- _our_  necks.”

You choke, gasping on crumbs and John also lets out a not-so-subtle gasp but your brother continues to stare and stare _and stare_ at Mr. Egbert. He stands stiffly, making sure that his eyes are meeting the blue’s of Mr. Egbert, showing no sign of backing down.

 

(On the inside though, he must feel terrified.)

 

* * *

 

In contrast, Mr. Egbert looks calmly at your brother, unperturbed by his fierceness and looking through his mask of bravery. As if staring into your brother’s soul.

“I wasn’t about to do anything like that Kankri,” he says and he reaches over to grasp Kankri’s hand. “I asked you here to discuss something like adults.”

Kankri hisses, pulls back, and crosses his arm, as if he had just been burned and the burn was leaving a scar. In a diplomatic, business, “Watch-your-back-because-I’m-better-than-you” voice he says,

“Speak then. I don’t mean to offend you but I feel uncomfortable with all this secrecy you are currently giving me.”

Mr. Egbert nods. “Understandable,” he says. “Don’t worry, I won’t take much of your time.”

“Then stop wasting it,” Kankri snaps. “What do you have to say to me?”

 

Mr. Egbert frowns.

 

“It’s about Karkat’s future,” he says and it’s like he just said “It’s about the dead body on my kitchen table” because his words literally sucks all the life out of the room and leaves you gaping like a fish. You can feel the “life” rushing out and you are happy that you are no longer eating because you would be vomiting if you were still eating. Because it’s about your future. Your future that you know is coming but you’ve been ignoring. You tense, disliking how the spotlight is searing into you and Kankri growls again.

 

(He must feel the same as you now. Like electricity is stabbing and carving through his organs.)

 

“Of which I am perfectly capable of providing for all by myself,” your brother answers through clenched teeth. “I find it quite insulting that adults your age always seem to lack faith in the capabilities of the younger generation,” he adds on.

(He’s on the defensive though. You know it.)

  
Mr. Egbert lifts his hands up in protest. “I’m not saying you are not _not_ capable Kankri,” he quickly says, trying to quell the social damage that he had unfortunately caused. “John has told me all about how capable you are and how you’ve been such a great guardian to Karkat.”

You and Kankri take this moment to look at John (Kankri glaring and you staring.) It never occurred to you that John spoke about you to his dad. But he must’ve. All kids did it. You did it too when you were with your own father and-

 

(Your own father…)

 

(You hadn’t thought of him for…a long time now. He still sent shivers up your back though, like he was watching you from beyond the grave even though he wasn’t dead yet. How would he react knowing that you and Kankri were about to graduate high school and college? Would he even be a smidgen proud or would he make another jab at Kankri’s sexuality and your…. everything?)

John blushes and looks away and you force your father from your mind and back into the pit he had crawled out of.

“But Karkat’s on scholarship right now isn’t he?” Mr. Egbert continues and it takes you a moment to latch back on to the conversation. “That’s all fine and good but….” he leans in and you hate where this is going and you can tell Kankri hates it too.

 

“What about college? How do you intend to pay for that?”

 

It’s like the “Death of the Earth From the Egbert Kitchen” part two occurs. You let out a shaky breath and glance over at Kankri. Kankri spares you a quick look and you can see it. The panic, the fear, the un-comfortableness, piercing through his mask. There and back.

“I can figure something out,” he says, but with less enthusiasm than before and this time looking at you rather than at John’s dad. “I-I mean…I  _have_ been figuring something out.”

 You blink.

This…is the first you were hearing about your college from your brother. You knew he was worried about you and you knew that he cared whole-heartedly about you but…. he had always avoided the subject of college. Like it was uncomfortable. You had seen from Kankri’s college experience that he had studied his ass off, ignored whatever the fuck was happening around him, and got the scholarship he always wanted. But he never pressured you to do anything. Never stacked SAT books into your desk in all your years of high school.

And secretly, despite everything your teachers and college counselors had done, you had already assumed that you wouldn’t be going to college and had been waiting for the perfect opportunity to break it to Kankri.

Sure you could (and probably would) go to community college and take night classes but a good, proper, college that cost over thirty, forty, or even fifty grand a year? You wouldn't be going to that. And you knew that Kankri would be disappointed but…a good college? For you? With your lack of funds and your engaged brother?

 

It seemed impossible.

 

Maybe you would work at Porrim’s or maybe you would find a job at McDonalds and hope that the company would give you a scholarship like they did to that kid in that bullshit commercial. Maybe you could be in a McDonald’s commercial as bullshit kid number four. You didn’t know and you were scared about what would happen, but you were going to work the second you had the chance to. You weren’t going to let yourself live freely under Kankri when you were old enough to support him.

“No doubt that you have but Kankri,” Mr. Egbert says and he pulls you back into the conversation with his pauses. You have to remind yourself to fucking breathe again and to stop over thinking every little detail.

(You do only one of those things)

 

“Kankri…Isn’t it about time you had someone to help you?”

 There’s a kindness in Mr. Egbert’s voice that is too innocent to be fake and Kankri hesitates before looking away from you and back at him. He gazes at Mr. Egbert’s steady smile and, his voice is shaking from surprise, finally answers.

“What are you implying?” he asks. There’s a long pause and, with no ounce of mockery or joking in his voice, Mr. Egbert says,

 

“College for Karkat, I’ll pay.”

 

* * *

 

You think you’re drowning in that moment. You have entirely forgotten how to breathe and Kankri can only stare wide-eyed at Mr. Egbert, as if seeing the words that just popped out of his words. As if physically watching them bump against the walls of the kitchen.

 

“Wha-? I-wha-?” he mutters in disbelief. “Y-you’re joking…you have to be joking…and I do not enjoyed being played with I-?”

 

“I’m not joking. College four years. Covered,” Mr. Egbert says and it’s suddenly getting too hot and too _real_ for you and you think you hear John say something before his hand catches your back.

(Oh. You had been slipping off the chair. Whoops.)

 

Kankri isn't doing much better but at least he is still standing. Standing but shaking his head, still clearly in disbelief, at what the fuck John’s dad had said.

“I can’t allow you to-I just can’t…” he says and it’s painfully obvious the tears in his voice. “Please if this is a joke then I-I will-!”

He hiccups several times and Mr. Egbert waits patiently for your brother to regain his breath. Vaguely, outside the blood pumping in your ears, you can feel John rubbing your back.

  
“I’ve already discussed it with several people,” Mr. Egbert continues when he finally deems Kankri okay for conversation. “In fact it was a certain Ms. Porrim Maryam who suggested this. She also told me something about a wedding I believe? Congratulations on your engagement by the way.”

Kankri sniffles then lets out an angry growl of Porrim’s name before he nods.

 

Mr. Egbert smiles and there’s a fatherly love there that you know Kankri has never seen before, “We’ll cover whatever wedding you chose to have. Big or small. The choice is yours and-”

He stops so that your brother can calm down again (he’s heaving as he hears the word “cover” and “wedding” in the same sentence.) “You also have student loans as well correct? We’ve decided to help you on that.”

 

Kankri looks like someone sucked the life out of him with a vacuum and then sold his soul on the black market.

 

“M-my loans?” he mumbles, “My wedding? You’ll just…. For everything…?” He shakes his head and there are tears spilling out of his eyes that you know he is going to deny ever having, “No I mean…I can’t-we can’t accept this.” Kankri mutters. “I mean it’s just too impossible. I can’t pay you back. I can’t do anything for you! I-!”

“I’m not asking for you to do this for free,” Mr. Egbert says softly. “Porrim said you would be stubborn and that you would say ‘no’ no matter what I did to convince you otherwise so…. So here’s what I’m offering…”

He walks over to your brother and places both of his hands on his shoulders, and the action makes your brother look like a kid again even though you know he isn’t.

(So much for speaking like adults.)

 

“Work at my company as a humanities employee,” he says and your brother’s eyes seem to pop out of his head. “I heard you majored in psychology and have knowledge in public speaking…. Correct?”

Kankri looks like the living dead itself, soul gone and body barely functioning. He’s a living zombie if you ever saw one. A “holy shit did I die?” living, dead, alive, and dying zombie person.

“You’re offering me a job?” Kankri whispers. “But your-? Your company-? Y-your offering me a job at-at Crocker Enter-?” He shakes and begins to pull away. “No…this is too much…. I just…”

“You’ll have to start as an intern,” Mr. Egbert says softly. “But there’s no doubt in my mind that, if you choose to stay, you’ll quickly rise through the ranks. And if you don't then know I will help you in whatever way I can with your next career move.”

Tears of emotion and disbelief are pouring from your brother’s eyes but he’s still shaking his head. As if he believes it’s all a dream. You feel like it must be a dream too because there is so much good here you don’t know…. You just don’t know what to do or…or…

(John pats your back and reminds you to breathe again. You breathe.)

“This is too much for me,” Kankri chokes out. “What….t-the hell are you playing at here?”

Mr. Egbert just continues to smile. “No tricks,” he says softly. “Kankri you deserve this. You worked hard for so long. Let this be your gift from us.” He then adds the words that Kankri must’ve never, ever heard before from your father in his whole life,

 

“I am so proud of you.”

 

Kankri seems to collapse inwards when Mr. Egbert says this. At first it’s just a few more sniffles but then big fat tears fall from his eyes and he looks away from all of you, ashamed to be appearing so weak in front of so many people. You feel like crying yourself as you watch Kankri choke and hiccup.

It’s a long time before he answers but when he does, when he finally does, it’s in a soft, soft voice.

“Thank you. T-thank you. You have no idea what this-this…”

And with that the room becomes warm again and the ice melts from your veins, replaced by a lightness you never knew your chest could carry. A lightness that you know Kankri must feel as well. It’s a lightness that feels like the wind has caressed and kissed all your insides.

 

(It’s…. a nice feeling.)

 

Mr. Egbert then gently, more gently than you have ever seen any adult act before, brings your brother into a hug. It’s a different kind of loving hug and you can’t help but smile as you watch your brother tense but then slowly bring his arms up and hug back. He grips the cotton shirt and cries and cries all while hugging Mr. Egbert.

The hand from your back removes itself and you feel John slips the hand into yours. You grasp it immediately as all your senses, numbed by anxiety, seem to become working and functional again. Your belly rumbles and you realize that, hilariously enough, you were starving.

“It wasn’t just us you know,” John says to you with a smile in his voice “Dirk, Porrim, Rose’s sister too. They all wanted to pitch in and help.” You look at him and see those blue eyes of his are holding onto your gaze.

“How long have you been planning this?” you ask in a choked voice. John just gives off a cheeky smile.

“That’s my secret to keep Karkat,” he says.

 

* * *

 

 

The day after the Egbert crying session (that you had to swear to never  _ever_ tell anyone about) Kankri shakes you awake and asks you to get dressed.

His eyes are still (very) puffy from crying and you ask what the fuck he was thinking waking you up so early in the middle of summer. “Is it so bad that the god fucking societal education system makes me cram information into my thinkpan at who knows shit o’clock but now I have to wake up at that o’clock of shit in the summer?” you mumble, trying to hide back in your covers.

Kankri yanks the covers from your head and opens the window to the morning light. “Get up and get dressed,” is all he says and he leaves.

That…worries you.

 

* * *

 

Kankri is eerily quiet (again) as you two, with a sense of wild danger and adventure, ride the bus downtown.

Then you two take another bus out of town.

Then another bus to a different town.

You turn to ask him where in heaven and fucking hell you were going but one look at your brother has you leaning back and watching the passing scenery.

(At least it was a nice day.)

 

* * *

 

When you two finally get off the public transportation system you realize you have arrived at a seaside town that _News 4_ always talked about. It’s a quaint, pretty little town and looks like it popped right out of the Disney fairytales of _Frozen_ or some shit.

(In your opinion _Tangled_ was the better movie but you digress.)

Kankri purposely drags you with him, as if he has something to show you rather than tell you, and you obediently follow. He takes several wrong turns and consults his phone five times, and constantly glances at you when he thinks you’re not looking before he finally, finally finds his destination.

 

He takes you to a cemetery.

You…. don’t like where this is going.

 

You hang close to him, afraid of what he was going to show you and disturbed that he isn’t saying anything yet. Where was the chatty brother that you hated and loved? Why did Kankri take you so far from your home and your bed? Why the fuck were you two in a cemetery right now?

You didn’t know and you were terrified to ask.

 

* * *

 

You two walk past tombstones and gravestones (you ignore the cawing crows that seemed to only add to the “aesthetic” of the cemetery) before Kankri comes to a final stop in front of two gravestones, hidden under a large, overhanging maple tree.

You already know who one of them is before Kankri opens his mouth.

It’s funny how you knew but something in the way that Kankri is looking at you just tells you who it is. Just flat out answers all your questions that you had and the ones that you never knew you had. You look down at…. her. Then look back at your brother.

He shrugs and gazes down.

 

“I found her back in middle school,” he confesses, “Finding her name in the papers wasn't that hard. But I didn't come out here until…. until…I was in high school. I would’ve gone earlier but I was…. afraid.”

You nod dumbly and kneel down. Someone had engraved a smiley face on her tombstone and you brush a finger over it. The smiley face had cat ears on it. You shiver. (How could someone put something so happy on something so…so…. _dead?_ )

“How come you never told me?” you ask and you see Kankri tense, uncomfortable and ashamed. He stumbles several times before sighing and slumping down next to you.

“It was never a good time,” he says sheepishly. “Every time I wanted to tell you, something…. unfortunate was happening and I just…. I couldn’t spring that on you Karkat,” he sighs. “Then…then when things began turning good for you it felt wrong to bring it up.” He looks at you and whispers softly,

“Do you know how hard it is to bring up our…deceased parent when you looked so happy?”

You didn’t but you could only guess how it felt. It probably felt like holding the sins of earth in your stomach. The butterflies with knives that could kill you.

 

“Why the change?” you ask but you already know the answer to that too. Because why else would he have had such a sudden change out of the blue? Who else could’ve caused it but a parent himself?

“Yesterday,” Kankri says, confirming your suspicions. “I guess just…. yesterday made me think about it.”

You nod again. It made sense. A loving father offers a once in a lifetime experience and the protagonist returns to the original parents. It was straight out of a Hallmark movie. Your gaze shifts to the tomb next to your…your mother’s and you gesture to it.

“Who’s this? A brother or something?”

“Not exactly,” Kankri says. “He is our uncle but he is neither our m-mother’s brother or was related to our…. our father,” he pauses and says softly, “Though judging by what I dug up on him, I have an inkling he wasn’t just an ‘uncle’ to us.”

You frown. “What makes you say that?” you ask confused. Kankri just gestures to the both of you.

“Look at us Karkat,” he says. “Both of us combined don’t look an inch like our father.”

You open your mouth to disagree but find that you can’t argue with him. He does make an accurate point. You two never looked scary eyed and grouchy like your “old man.” Even your anger issues were different.

 

(He doesn’t use the word “kidnapping” but that’s what it feels like.)

 

“Do you have a picture of him or something?” you ask. “Of our….‘uncle’?”

Kankri shakes his head. “The only pictures I found of him was him with his head down,” he then chuckles suddenly, as if he remembers something funny. “He did have our hair though,” he says, ruffling your messy curls.

You nudge him off with a “Fuck you,” and, ignoring your brother’s “trigger warning”, lean in to read the engraved name of your “uncle.”

“Signless,” you read aloud. You frown. “Strange name to put on a tombstone. Was all the other ‘S’ names taken or something?”

(Yes you are all the sarcasms. Bow down to your wit and amazingness at making fun of names.)

Kankri shoves you lightly. “Hush you,” he says. “How would you feel when, in two hundred years, someone came and made fun of your name? I believe you would be highly upset.”

You just grin.

“I would totally haunt anyone’s fucking ass if they made fun of my name,” you say and Kankri shoves you again.

 

* * *

 

The two of you sit for a long time looking at your mother and your “uncle.” You had never questioned your mother’s existence before but now, looking at her tombstone, it felt strange that you never did. She born you two yet you never stopped to suddenly think and ask, “Hey, where the fuck is my mommy?”

It never occurred to you to ask back then with… _him_ as a father.

“Do you remember her?” you ask Kankri. There’s a contemplative look on his face, there and back, as if he had never thought about her as a memory and a real life figure. Knowing Kankri, he probably just equated her with the people he learned about in college, dead and gone fifty years ago.

It was…. sad in a way.

He finally shakes his head. “Too young,” he says. “And anyway, I’d…. I’d probably wouldn’t remember her anyway.”

When you ask him why he just sadly shakes his head. “Memories are said to change or become repressed after events that can be labeled as ‘traumatic’ occurs,” he mumbles. “I read that from my Psych 101 textbook and though I do find that most teachings in my textbooks need to be updated, this seemed…. accurate enough.”

You bite your lip and look down. There’s another question that’s been bugging you so you hesitantly ask, trying to ignore how the rustling leaves seem to only make you colder and more nervous,

“Why were they buried so far away from us?”

Kankri hesitates again, bites his lip and pulls at the skin, and sighs before answering.

“I don’t think they were buried far away,” he confesses. “I do believe Karkat that…. _we_ were the ones that were ‘far away.’”

(He doesn’t use the word “kidnapped” again but for some reason, that’s what it feels like to you.)

 

* * *

 

 

“Do you think they would’ve liked us?” you finally ask and Kankri smiles, as if he’s been waiting for you to ask this question.

  
“I think our mother,” he says gesturing towards the left grave. “Would’ve loved you.” There’s a lightness in his voice as he speaks of “her.”

“They said that she was a bit of a romantic and all pictures that I found of her was her in the library writing articles that ‘shipped’ people. I can only imagine what type of books she liked,” he laughs a little. “She would’ve probably spent hours with you talking about which couples worked and which couples didn’t.”

He then gestures towards the other grave and you can’t help but notice that the smile falls from his face, like he had wiped it off with a swipe of his hand. Less enthusiastically he says, “He would’ve liked you too.”

His voice loses its light tone and instead becomes more…. remorseful. “A lot,” he adds. “All the information I found out about him told me that he enjoyed speaking and teaching people. He was always teaching. He was the leader of the group and people followed him,” he nudges you slightly. “Just like you.” A fraction of a smile then returns to him. “I know listening to talks isn’t your cup of tea but… He probably would’ve made you stay.” 

You scoff. “Wouldn’t he have liked you better than?” you ask, “Spending hours talking sounds like your wet dream fantasy time ten.”

Kankri frowns at your language and you mumble out an annoyed “sorry” that he “accepts” willingly (cough unwillingly COUGH.)

Still, he sadly shakes his head.

“He was a preacher,” Kankri says. “A respected one too for the Catholic Church and I don’t…. I don’t think that he would’ve approved of …me,” he sighs. “Probably would have kicked me out of the house first chance he got.”

 

You frown. “Why the everlasting fuck would he do that?” you ask confused. Kankri just shrugs. “

“Perhaps because of my choice in romantic partners?” he says. He pulls his knees to his chest and stares out at “Signless”, as if staring into the eyes of your dead “uncle” himself.

 That scares you.

 

“Hey,” you say, worried. You don't like that self deprecating look on your brother’s face because it reminds you too much of your own self deprecating looks you would give to yourself in the mirror. “Remember my two amorous crushes? That happen to both be boys? He would’ve hated me too.”

“He still would’ve hated me more,” Kankri says quickly and before you can butt in with an argument he continues.

“I would’ve tried to tell him of the importance of the LGBTQ community. He would’ve told me the sins of Adam and Eve. I would’ve told him about leaders of sexuality and he would’ve read me the sins of being gay,” he chuckles. “And then I would’ve caved. Broke up with Cronus. Find a suitable wife. Become a churchman. Bathe myself in holy water every Sunday. And spend the rest of my life repenting for my sins and trying not to Facebook stalk Cronus.”

 

You blink. That was…. a lot more detailed then you were expecting.

 

“You thought about this a lot haven’t you?” you ask, in slight awe of how thoroughly your brother had reached this conclusion. He nods.

“I might’ve,” he confesses.

You look back at Signless and frown at him. “If that’s the case,” you say. “I would’ve probably yelled at him to get off his fucking high horse and tell him to not ignore his own fucking son.”

 Kankri chuckles, as if amused by your antics. “Would you have?” he asks.

You take your brother’s hand and hold it until he looks up at you. “I definitely would fucking have,” you say.

 

* * *

 

 

The two of you continue to talk of the what-ifs and the maybes of life with your…. parents. It was strange, looking at your “parents” (could you even call them that?) and discussing a life that could’ve been. It felt strange to. It felt fake almost, looking at the world through rose-colored glasses with your brother, but you let yourselves indulge.

“I would’ve told on you on…on mom all the fucking time, “ you say, stumbling as you said the word “mom” (it felt weird and foreign and you choke up like you were swallowing pebbles because of how heavy the one syllable word is.) “And she probably would’ve taken my side.”

Kankri retaliates.

“And I would have shown every single project I ever had with the whole family,” he says. “My seventh grade projects, my tenth grade projects. I would have even shown you all the full extent of my senior thesis.”

You shudder. Your brother would be working on that thesis in the upcoming months. That thought scared you but for a different reason. “Please don't actually read me your senior thesis,” you moan. “I don’t think my brain capacity can handle whatever bullshit you’ve been shoving down your throat for the past four years.”

 

“Language Karkat,” Kankri says.

 

“Fuck you Kankri,” you mumble back. “Actually no, the fucking is probably what Cronus does when I’m not listening.” Your brother splutters and you can’t help but laugh.

When your laughter dies down though, you can’t help but notice your brother is looking at you oddly.

“You would’ve probably hated me more too,” he confesses suddenly and you’re surprised at his sudden change in tone. You look at him in confused silence and he takes this as a sign to continue.

“Having a mom and dad like them…there would be no need for someone like me in your life to take care of you and…. I guess…” He sighs. “I still would’ve tried but I guess I would’ve been so very… _annoying_ to you.” His expression falls and he looks away.

You’re about to argue no, that you would have still needed him even if your parents were alive, that he was being a stupid fuck, but you stop yourself because…would you?

Would you really?

Would you really not need your brother anymore if you had parents like them? If you had a loving relationship with your mom and dad, would you need someone like Kankri telling you what they told you everyday? Would you need him there to be the annoying, caring older brother he was now in this “life”?

You don’t know for sure but the thought of not having a relationship with your brother as you did now and as you know it was, no, _is_ unimaginable.

If that was the case then…then…

“I like how my life turned out,” you say and you lean against Kankri. “And I like how you turned out too.”

(You know you can’t see it but you bet all the money in the world that Kankri is smiling.)

 

* * *

 

Later, when your brother falls asleep against you, an argument still on his lips about how he would’ve tried to “modernize” Signless’ sermons, you can’t help but feel rushing moments of panic as you watch the sun begin to set. Because as much as staying and reflecting in front of your parents is liberating and freeing (more freeing than you were expecting it to be) you don’t want to be stuck at a graveyard after dark.

That was when the zombies and the ghosts came out and you didn’t want to deal with that bullshit while you were still young and kicking.

Your hand goes to your phone and you’re about to call whatever first contact fucking appears (because ZOMBIES and GHOSTS might try to EAT you and your brother) when you stop. You stop because well…

There are a lot of people now on your contact list.

There’s your brother. There’s your brother’s fiancé, there’s Porrim and Kanaya. There’s Rose. There’s Mr. Egbert.

There’s John and Dave. Dave and John. The two people you love in a romantic way.

There are so many more people than you had before.

You can’t help but smile. It was kind of like a very weird, fucked up family. A family you never really knew had grown around you until it did. You have people in your life. People to talk to. People who cared

“We’re doing alright,” you whisper. You look up and smile at you mom and your…. dad.

 

“We’re doing alright.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Repeat of the top)
> 
> ALERT ALERT ALERT: MAJOR EDITS HAVE OCCURED
> 
> This chapter I reread and it was BULLSHIT. Like I hated it and what was I thinking. So it went into editng hell and now its been SPLIT INTO TWO PARTS. Its is way BETTER NOW. I AM SO SORRY.
> 
> (Also please someone help me find typos.)


	13. High School: Kankri and Karkat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS CHAPTER HAS BEEN MAJORLY EDITED FROM ITS FIRST EDIT CAUSE THAT ONE WAS SHIT
> 
>  
> 
> It is also hella long. Like holy fuck its long. Can someone help me edit? Please? Please????
> 
> WHERE THE FUCK ARE THE TYPOS AT?

When Cronus picks you and your brother up (he literally picks up Kankri like a fucking bride and you wish that you could have taken a picture of the moment but your phone had unfortunately d-i-e-d and was now d-e-a-d in a cemetery filled with d-e-a-d people. If the zombies came and ate you, you were so putting all the blame on Cronus for not rescuing your guys’ asses faster. Also fuck zombies and their brain eating consumption problems) you ask him if Kankri ever took him here. To the graveyard. To see your…parents.

 

(It was still felt weird and foreign to think that word, let alone say that word.)

 

He glances over at the tombstones, looks around at the other graves, looks back at you and then shakes his head. “Nope never,” he says, popping the “P”. Adjusting the sleeping Kankri in his grip he continues,

“He wanted you to be the first y’know. First to meet the famous original Vantas ‘rentals. But I guess…” he looks down at your brother. “I guess when this guy’s comfortable with it, I’m going to introduce myself. Properly,” he adds grinning. “In a suit and tie and shit. Like out of a romcom.”

(You growl at Cronus not to diss the magic of romcoms and Cronus counters you by hitting you in the head with sleeping-Kankri’s sneakered foot.)

The thought of knowing that you were the first who Kankri brought here makes you happy for some reason. Of course in retrospect it makes sense that your brother was obviously going to show you your…. parents (still a weird word!) first but still….

Knowing that you were _the_ first person Kankri took to firsthand to meet your…. parents was… _is_ nice. And knowing that Cronus would one day also meet your…parents was also nice. The feeling of “niceness” only adds to the odd feeling of “family love” you suddenly realized you had. It almost makes you want to cry buckets of euphoric bliss (which you do _not_ do. At least, you don’t do the “crying buckets” part.) Embarrassed at your own happiness, you look away and try to hide a smile that you can feel beginning to pollinate your face like a bee covered in sexy pollen from a sexy flower. (Stupid ridiculous bee kid who transplanted bee euphemisms in your poor thinkpan. If he didn’t unlock your phone that one you locked yourself out for three years then you would have engaged in strife with him before you graduated.) You pause in your walking and ask Cronus (who stops only a few seconds after you) if he knew anything about your…. parents. If Kankri had told him anything. Anything at all.

 

You feel like you know the answer before he even says it though.

 

A surprised look comes over Cronus’ face. Then an embarrassed look. Then an earnest look. Then Cronus looks down at your brother (Kankri’s head is lolling backwards and its fucking hilarious to look at. Again you wish your phone wasn’t d-e-a-d in a cemetery filled with d-e-a-d people) and lets out a soft sigh before he slowly shakes his head. “Surprisingly your brother kept his mouth shut about the whole thing,” he confesses. “But Kankri’s like that isn’t he? The bigger the secret, the more tight lipped he’ll become y’know?”

You do know. You know too well. Kankri had managed to keep his sexuality under the wraps from your fath- The man you used to live with and it was only after the subtlest of hints that you were able to figure out for yourself about Kankri’s gay standings.

 

“Had my suspicions though,” Cronus says, breaking you from your thoughts. “It’s impossible to _not_ notice even the slightest change in Kankri’s behavior when he’s onto something. Plus I wasn’t exactly the ‘big idiot’ he thought I was at the time.” He shrugs (as best as he could) and continues walking. “That or I stared at your brother way too much like the fool in love I was and still am.”

That’s…. really sweet actually. Sweet and oddly relatable. You knew that feeling of someone close to you just _feeling_ different. As if they were wearing a mask that day.

(You wonder how often the people close to you have noticed your mask.)

 

“Still…I must’ve surprised you when I called,” you say, stepping over a d-e-a-d tree root (that suspiciously looks like a zombie hand. Not that you’re scared or anything of course.) “Nothing gets the fucking pathetic cardio vascular organ pumping like an afternoon pick up at a cemetery that holds the mother and father of your fiancé.”

Cronus stops again and you almost crash into him. He stops…. looks around at the gravestones and headstones, and he…frowns. Frowns as if it’s really truly hitting him that this is where your parents are. Where Kankri’s parents are. That Kankri (and you) never had a chance to live a life like he did or any of your friends did because your…. parents were…here. As if realizing that the sleeping sack of Vantas he was holding was related to the two that were currently six feet under. As if realizing that again, there was more to Kankri than meets the eye.

 

Hell, there was still so much that you felt that you didn’t know about your brother.

 

“Poor guy’s been through a lot to get to this moment,” is all he mumbles after what feels like too long to be a passing thought. It’s as he finally “gets it.” Of course you knew he “got it” before but now, in this moment as light faded into dark and zombies stirred in their sleep (You were still paranoid okay?) it must’ve been sinking in that Kankri had had all this inside of him the whole time. Hiding. Cronus sighs again. “I wish he…would’ve told me.”

You nod. Kankri had been through a lot. You had too but sometimes you forgot that your brother had his own life outside of yours. Had his own fears and had his own trials. Had his own high school drama with being gay and having a boyfriend.

“He probably didn’t say anything because he cared,” you respond, knowing in your heart that your words are true. “That’s how it usually is with him. After all, the only time he’ll shut up is when it really matters.” You then chuckle. “That and when you do your over the top flirting with him. He seems to like that even if he acts like he hates it.”

That breaks Cronus from his thoughts and a he laughs along too, dispelling any look of uncertainty he had on his face. “Why do you think I do it?” he says and, as if proving his point, he kisses the top of Kankri’s head.

To your utter amazement, Kankri (in his sleep) actually mumbles out a “No…. Cronus…not in front of….” before delving back into his dreams. You and Cronus share a shocked look and the two of you, without using any words, decide to not tell Kankri about this later. Or ever.

 

* * *

 

These two…must have a story of their own you realize as you’re getting into the “family” car. An amazing story. A harsh story.

 

A love story.

 

“I’d like to hear it sometime,” you mumble, relaxing into the backseat as the feelings of sleepiness overtake your eye sockets. “Your guys’ whole story,” you clarify when Cronus looks at you confused from the driver’s seat. “How you two met and how you, in Porrim's words, 'convinced' my brother to go out with you.”

Cronus smiles and turns back around. “Maybe we’ll tell you one day,” he says softly. “Maybe.”

 

* * *

 

Studying.

You spend your time studying. Studying literary terms that had confused you during the school year, reading all the books you could reach for in the library, and writing like you have never written before. You force yourself to wake up early as a new wave of determination comes over and invokes you. Invokes and drowns you. You are drowning in determination and it is simultaneously the best and worst feeling in the world.

So much was at stake now that you knew your college was being paid for. (You still feel your hairs stand up on your neck whenever you think about that. Someone was paying for your pathetic brain to grace the halls of academia.) As excited as you were however, the first step was still unaccomplished and it was a step that you had to accomplish. First of all, you needed to find a college and aim for it. Aim for that college with all your might. The college that Mr. Egbert, the older Strider, Rose’s sister, Porrim, everyone was counting on you to get into. For the first time in your high school life you felt an unmistakable pressure of college push down on you and, like a schoolgirl with a crush on an older classmate, you grin and bear it. It’s a pressure that you never felt before and a fear you never felt before but you are determined to do it. To accomplish your goals. To get into college.

(You are becoming a fucking monk all up in here. You wonder if your…. parents would be proud.)

Your college counselor had shown you SAT optional liberal arts colleges but you had originally ignored them, deterred by the price tag with the million-bazillion zeros attached to it. But now you looked over those same college lists and studied them like they had just been Pope-d into a new religion. You went online and searched up classes, dormitories, environments, everything. Nothing escaped your eye. Nothing at all. Not even the typo that made one site say “Welcomb Back Class of ’85!”

(You sent a screenshot of that image to your group chat. The shared response was pretty much summarized in the audio clip Dave then sent that had the words “I warned you about the stairs bro” repeating on loop. It had nothing to do with the banner situation but at the same time you felt like it ironically fit the problem as well.)

College. You had to get in. You just had to now.

* * *

 

It’s not until you were bleary eyed, confused, and rubbing sleep off of everywhere on your body, (God you were seeing stars and your head is spinning and you just realized that feeling the rush of blood in your ears after three cups of black coffee probably wasn’t a good sign) that you wonder where in the world John and Dave were going. Literally. Where in the world were they going for college? For that sweet, sweet higher education?

 

Where were they are going? Were they staying in state? Out of state? Going abroad? Overseas? To the moon?

 

(Oh hell you must be tired. Humans can’t study on the moon! You think. Actually you don’t know. Technically if people could take online classes and the people who traveled via NASA could talk to people on earth then wouldn’t that mean people could go to college on the moon? Oh god, your mind was entering a pit that it probably should NOT enter. You are way too tired for this shit.)

 

That question hits you so you hard you fall over. At least, that’s what you tell yourself because you totally did NOT trip over the pile of clothes on the ground that Kankri told you hang up. Totally did not. (And you also did not hit your leg on your desk chair while you were collapsing. Also totally did NOT.)

You stare up at the ceiling as that realization seeps in. You never asked. You never asked what college they were going to and you didn’t know. Of course at this stage of the college process possibly _no one_ knew where they were going to go but still….

 

You didn’t even have an inkling of a thought of where they would be headed.

 

You remember that Dave had mentioned wanting to be in the city (“Skyscrapers and shit. I’m going to film the lives of corporate fuck ups and use them as a stepping stone for my own media empire.” “I thought you wanted to study archeology?” “Shhh Karkat…. Don’t tell the bones that I’m cheating on them with my camera.”) and John had set his sights on “Anywhere but here” as a college of choice after he decided that music wasn’t his calling. (“Stop looking at me like that Karkat! You’re going to give me indigestion!” “You’re not even eating anything right now fuckface!” “Well your going to give me _future_ indigestion then.”) Sure they didn’t know the details but for them, their dream locations were somewhere that wasn’t “here.”

Where were they going? How far away from you would they go? Did they even want you to go with them?

No…of course they did. You know that without even having to ask them that they did.

 

Still you were terrified to even think about where they might go. To even wonder about being separated and alone again. To be the old Karkat that you knew was always behind you and would trap you if you didn't run fast enough.

You didn’t want them to leave you. You wanted to stay with them…forever. Like John had said that day. Like you wanted and how they wanted.

Like how you know they wanted.

* * *

 

Prospit College is a bright, annoyingly happy, annoyingly cheery liberal arts college.

Prospit College is a college you wouldn’t have spared a second glance at because you thought it was filled with rich fucks that all had their heads too up their asses to actually care about humanity.

Prospit College has an amazing English Department.

Prospit College has a nationally recognized, amazing Creative Writing Department.

Prospit College has a trust fund from heaven and from hell.

Prospit College is SAT optional.

Prospit College looks like it came out of a fever dream. A good fever dream and not the nightmarish fever dreams.

Prospit College’s brochure was thrown at your face the second you stepped into Dave’s apartment. There’s an obvious slight smirk on Dirk’s face the second before he threw said brochure in your face.

“This place isn’t my cup of metaphoric red solo cup of beer topped with whip cream and lost dorm keys, but Dave told me you like to write,” Dirk says bluntly as you peel the brochure from your face. The smirk is replaced by a (fake) frown and he (teasingly) glares at the folded paper that was now resting like a wet diaper in your hands. “Read it and please tell me you hate it,” Dirk says quickly (excitedly) “Please. I’m begging you. Jake goes there and if he finds out you love it then not only am I going to have to deal with his bullshit, but I’ll also owe him money.”

 

You fucking love it.

 

You hate how you fucking love it. You hate how it hits your feels in just the right ways. And you hate how many creative writing classes they offer. You want to break down and weep right on the spot because of how fucking in love you are with Prospit College you have suddenly become. It would be filled with the worst, most snobbish people in the world but its English Department is amazing. Its Creative Writing Department is amazing. It is fucking SAT optional too.

You want to visit it. You want to take pictures of it with your shitty phone camera. You want Dave to take pictures of it with his superior Polaroid camera. You want John to visit you there during his spring break just so he can fill the trees with water balloons painted to look like apples.

 

You. Fucking. Love. It.

 

You tell Dirk you fucking love it and Dirk lets out an annoyed (happy) sigh. He casts you a forlorn (thrilled) look and then begins to (jokingly) bemoan his wallet (named aptly “Rainbow Dash the Cash Bag”).

“Thanks a lot Karkitty,” he complains. “You sure do take one for the team. Too bad it’s the wrong team. I was saving up to buy parts for a new unbreakable katana because _someone_ broke the last one.” From behind him, Dave yells out that he “Totally did not it was John!” to which Dirk just backward flips him off.

“No wonder Dave gives you googly eyes when you aren’t looking,” Dirk says after said middle finger slippage is retracted. “You and him are fucking conspiring behind my back, everyday all day, while John distracts me with fake mustaches and ponies from the front.”

Your grin. “Probably should’ve fucking gotten used to it at this point Dirk,” you say. “Something’s never change.”

There’s a sudden pause that comes over Dirk after you say this and he, to your surprise, pushes up his shades. His eyes have widened in a way where it feels like the fucking sun from the Sunny-D commercial is blaring two holes into you and it’s a bit…. alarming that Dirk is just…. looking at you. As if, for the first time in a long time, he’s really look at you. Of course he always looked at you when he spoke to you (you think) but this time he seems to. …take you in from your head to your toes.

He then, shockingly enough, reaches over, hesitates for a second, and ruffles your head.

“Fuck you’re making me feel old Karkat,” he says and there’s a tenderness in his voice that is all too nostalgic and familiar to your ears. “Seems like only yesterday Dave was dragging you in to show you all of his shitty games and you two were giggling like teenagers who just came across their first dick in an R-rated movie.” He removes his hand and gives you an actual smile. A tender smile. A smile like he’s gifting you a prize from a shitty (but incredibly tricky to win) carnival game. It’s an action that throws you in an emotional loop. Eyes and a smile? In the time interval of five minutes and on the same day? “Who are you and where did you leave Dirk’s soul?” you ask, your voice filled with a mixture of surprise, shock, and slight horror. Dirk just shrugs at your question.

 

“Just missed you man,” he says. “And I guess I’m just…happy you’re here now.”

* * *

 

Even their website is fucking impressive.

Kankri and you spend at least three hours on the Prospit College website, searching out every possible English and Creative Writing class that they offer, their application process, their needed grades for SAT optional students, even their Honor Code. Kankri can only nod in approval and you can see an excited glint in his eyes as he reads the short blurbs on the professors.

“It’s perfect for you,” he says after your collective eyeballs burn from too much screen appreciation. “Jake…uh…Dirk…. Jake and Dirk certainly found you a good choice.” You can’t help but agree as you smile to yourself.

 

This is it.

 

This is your future. This is what is going to be your goal for the next few months. You were going to have to show only your best from here on out. You could see your objective in the horizon and like hell you were going to run and claim the reward.

Kankri, as if sensing your determination, can only smile at your enthusiasm. “I’m glad you found a place that interests you,” he says. “You’ll have an…easier time from here on out.”

He doesn’t say the words “Than me” but the atmosphere is lost after that. It’s lost because you realize that another hidden part of Kankri has been right in front of you this whole time but you didn’t see it. You realize that Kankri went through this same process of college applications and selections once upon a fucking time. He went through it but he never…. expressed any feelings about it.

Kankri notices the shift in your demeanor and begins to splutter out apologies for “triggering” your negative emotions when you were so happy. He apologizes profusely, saying that he did not mean to upset you through stirring up unpleasant memories that involved himself and past events that neither of which wished to talk about. He apologizes again and again, going in circles with himself like Dave did when he was stumped. Just…like Dave actually.

 

You frown.

 

This is…. exactly what Dave did when he didn’t want to talk about something. And before Kankri can continue into more “triggering” triggers you cut him off with a question of _if_ he wanted to talk about it.

“We never did before did we?” you say carefully. “We just…fucking never did.”

Kankri bites his lip and looks off to the side. “You were younger then,” he mutters, “And I…. Didn’t want to trigger you,” He says those words so meekly that you want to hit him.

Instead you poke his side (hard) and, wrapping an arm around him, ask him again if he wanted to talk about it. Kankri looks down, ashamed. He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t do anything but twiddle with his hands and not look at you. He’s stalling for whatever time he can get and you all too willingly give it to him.

 

This is…. personal after all.

 

After what feels like a long time has passed (you couldn’t be certain because you weren’t look at the clock, the whole of your attention on your brother) Kankri finally leans against you and says softly, in a pained voice that only someone who’s remembering something horrible can use, begins to explain himself.

“Applying to college was…. so hard,” he confesses. “The essays, the applications, the Skype interviews I had to do at school because heavens knows that man would have _never_ driven me anywhere, and all those SAT tests,” he shudders. “The whole time I thought I wouldn’t make it and I thought I…. wasn’t good enough to make it anywhere. I thought I was an idiot for even wanting to _try_ to go to college. It was certainly an…. unpleasant experience.” You can hear the tightness in his voice and it’s as if the Kankri right now isn’t here and has been replaced with the Kankri from the time when you were living with your fath- that man. There’s a stressed tone in his words as if by speaking out the memory he was recreating it right in front of him. He suddenly laughs bitterly, as if remembering something else.

 

His next words surprise you.

 

“Did you know that I…. I used our father’s credit card to pay for those tests and I never told him?” he says. You can feel him shaking as he speaks his next words. “I never told him Karkat and I-I…. justified my theft with the idea that he at least owed me that much. He was supposed to pay for my SATs because he _owed_ me that much.” Kankri’s hands had become small fists and there’s a look of self-hatred on his face.

“I never paid him back….” he says. “I took that test three times. _Three times._ Just to get what I saw were ‘perfect’ scores. Over a hundred dollars spent and I never paid him back. I’m a fucking _thief_ Karkat and…. And I told myself that my thievery was ‘just’ because it was what _he_ should have done.”

You…. don’t know what to say to that. You have no idea what in the world to say besides telling your brother that he wasn’t and is NOT a thief and that paying for shit and caring about their children was what fathers were _supposed_ to do. Fathers were _supposed_ to support their children no matter what. That both fairytale and in-real-life fathers were _supposed_ to do what Kankri had oh-so unwillingly been forced to do.

You can see that Kankri doesn’t believe you though and it hurts knowing that he doesn’t believe you as he reaches a hand up and lightly paps your face.

 

“I want you to be happy Karkat,” he says. “That’s all I want for you.”

* * *

 

All your friends are nerds. You made friends with a big shit festering stack of nerds. You made friends with a vampire nerd, an in-love-with-said-vampire nerd, an actual nerd, and a nerd who pretended to be cool but was really in the end just a huge fucking nerd.

You guys were an army of nerds ready to out nerd each other. Every time you guys got together it was a an orgy pile of romance novels, vampire fanfiction, awkwardly and professionally knitted scarves, Matthew McFuck-Face’s films, and whatever the fuck Dave was Photoshop-editing on his laptop.

(From what John told you it wasn’t anything too horribly ironic, but it was something that would make you never look at an apple the same way. This did not calm your thinkpan one fucking bit.)

They’re all nerds because they throw you a party when you tell them where you decided to try your hardest to get your ass to get into.

You had casually mentioned it in your group chat (now called “Please Only Use This Chat When You Want To Contact All Of Us David” previously known as “didja know if you put an s at the end of vantas you get vantass?” previously previously known as “JOHN IF YOUR BF MAKES ONE MORE JOKE ABOUT BUTTS HIS WILL BE SITTING ON A THE NEXT FLIGHT TO CANADA!!!” previously previously previously known as “guys my phone changed anubis to anus”) that you eyeballs and eye sockets had graced the pages of education concerning Prospit College and that you might sorta, kinda, maybe, really wanted to go there a lot.

There’s a surprising silence in the group chat with no sarcasm (or butt jokes) from anyone and there’s a panic that shoots through you that _maybe_ talking about college in a group chat with your friends wasn’t the _best_ idea when the name of the chat is changed again.

 

It’s changed to “karkat vantas is the smartest fuck in the world”.

(There’s a ridiculous grin on your face when you read that shit.)

 

The party happens the day right fucking after.

John brings three celebratory pineapple-apple pie (with the explanation that the pies were based off of a meme from Japan that you were never ever _ever_ going to watch. Ever.), Dave holds onto several huge yellow balloons as if his life depended on it (he threatens to static electrocute anybody and everybody with his hair if they made him let go of said balloon monstrosities), Rose gives you a party hat (probably the most normal thing that happens that night), and Kanaya slips a non-threatening (probably threatening) note to Kankri that has him and Cronus leaving the apartment ASAP.

“Porrim invited them to dinner at a nice restaurant a few towns over,” Kanaya says and you don’t miss the small smirk that plays on her lips as she watches Dave accidentally release the yellow balloons into your apartment after John had thrown one of pineapple-apple pie thrown into his face. “But don’t worry,” she adds, “She told me that they would return in one piece… more or less.”

You don’t ask anymore questions concerning what the fuck could be happening to your brother after that and instead spend the afternoon chatting (arguing) with John, Rose, and Kanaya, eating a piece of the pineapple apple pie from Dave’s face (it was fucking hilarious watching Stri-Idiot turn red from that), and playing shitty board games (of which you won only one game of and that was because you cheated.)

 

(It was fucking so much fun.)

* * *

 

August then melts into your collective shitty lives and you are sweating buckets of unsavory salt liquids in your room.

It’s hot. You feel lazy. You’re trying to study. And it’s already lunchtime, a time where you would have usually met up with your friends and would have avoided John’s water balloons/condom filled water “balloons.” But you haven’t been able to write anything good (at least, not what you deem as “good”) and you want to at least put an idea on digital paper before heading out into the world. Groaning, you decide you needed fluids less you turn into a sand monster due to lack of them, and emerge from your room. You stumble with your half asleep feet (hissing in slight pain at the “needle” feeling they were giving you) to the kitchen in hopes of find something, anything (iced coffee) to drink.

That’s when you hear something that sounds like a…. whine.

You stop, listen, and you hear it again. A whine you think. A weird high-pitched _whine._ You wonder if a cat somehow ran into your apartment and cast a glance around the hallway before you hear what might be a…gasp instead of that whining noise. It’s coming from your brother’s room and you walk over to ask what the fuck Kankri was doing in there (and if there was a cat in his room) when you hear something again and-

Oh.

_Oh…._

 

You’re out of the house faster than you can say, “Fucking bulge eating shit is happening in my fucking home where I eat, sleep, and shower.”

August is the hottest fucking month of the year and is the month when you realize that your brother isn’t as pure and holy-than-thou as you thought that he was.

* * *

 

You can’t…. look at your brother after that. After hearing, if only a little bit, what had been going on behind closed doors it was just…Just….

 

Too weird to go back to normal terms with him.

 

Oddly enough it’s Cronus whom you can still be on semi-amicable terms with, but it’s Kankri who you just begin to…. avoid.

It’s Kankri whose gaze you can’t meet. It’s Kankri who you don’t interact with. It’s Kankri that you, for the first time in your life, feel separated from.

You don’t talk to him. You eat your breakfast faster than you have ever eaten before just so you could leave the fucking table quicker. You avoid him, his questions, his fucking eyes, and spend the days (and sometimes nights) with your friends. You even use the “I have fucking homework” excuse even though it was the summer just to avoid him.

It’s just…it’s your brother.

The person you grew up with. The person who you spent your practical entire life with. The person who has been with you since you were born and trusted you with so many secrets. It’s your brother and he’s doing more…grown up things then you thought he would ever do.

And it shocks you to your core.

You know that being older than you and living with his fiancé that your brother must have those (you shudder to think of the word) _urges_ hit him. And that, based on your past outings, you would have been out of the apartment at that time when you had been stumbling to get a drink from the fridge but still….

Still…It’s your brother and he’s more of an adult than you thought he was.

You don’t know who to talk to about this to. You feel…. strange. Not jealous (definitely not jealous. Your brother would and always be family) just…. confused. Insecure? Out of the loop? It didn’t make any sense to you. Kankri didn’t need to tell you every-fucking little thing about his life and he DEFINITELY did not need to tell you about his…. sex life (another shudder runs through you) but you feel just…. weird.

 

You were seeing a different side to him and you were unsure on how to approach it.

* * *

 

It’s after the fourth night in a row that you crash at Dave’s that sunglasses himself asks you if you and your brother had had the “Fight to end all fights.”

You two were chilling (or in your case, hiding out) in Dave’s room and Dave had finally dropped that bomb of a question. “Not that I’m complaining Karkitty,” he says, stopping mid-spin on his desk chair to look at you (he had been attempting to rubber-band shoot one of the action figures on his bookshelf and had instead hit the wall in all four of his attempted shots). “But if this is gonna become a permanent thing I’m gonna need to find those adoption papers and re-iron my red suit. Don’t want the crossing over of families to happen when I’m wearing my jeans and sneakers. Taking in a Karkitty is a suit and Heelys event. Probably gonna have to tell John too cause every family man has to know what’s happening with his spouses.”

You snort and tell him that he is such a nerd for owning Heelys and that those shitty excuses for unicycles on shoes were the worst invention on planet earth next to furbies and jerky made out of fruit (“That’s just dried fruit Karkitty. What do you have against the dried out companions of the living sweets that grow from trees?”) You expect Dave to counter argue and school you on how wrong you were and that his Heelys were the “Raddest thing that ever raided his closet in the past ten years” but to your surprise, Dave instead asks his original question again, this time sans ironic ranting.

“Is your home life…hard…?” Dave asks. He stops himself before he says the words “Again” but you understand his worry and immediately feel guilty. Shit. You didn’t mean to make him feel bad. Especially not after…everything. If there was one thing you didn’t want happening in your life (again) it was making Dave feel bad.

You quickly tell him no. You weren’t hiding from your home life. Everything was still fine and good. Nothing was “wrong.” You just needed time to…. sort things out. Time to be away from Kankri a little.

Dave looks at you stoically (curiously) and you can tell that his silence is his way of saying “Speak to me I can take it.” It’s a silent form of encouragement that you’ve gotten used to. (Again. You think. You never dove deep into the feelings world with Dave back in middle school. Sure there were moments but still….)

 

It doesn’t take you long to cave to that expression.

 

You sigh and, pulling your knees to your chest, look at him with sheepish, nervous eyes. “You promise not to laugh?” you ask. “I mean, I’ll fucking tell you why I’ve been dissociating my pitiful self with my more pitiful home life but if you laugh I swear to everything above and below us that I will take your head in my two claws that I call my hands and squeeze until your apple-scented brain juices come out.”

Dave promises immediately. You had been hoping that he would say something to prolong your talking but he tells you quickly, too quickly, that he won’t laugh at you.

It’s…. extremely sincere.

You lean your head back, resting it on Dave’s bed and look pointedly at the wall in front of you and NOT at Dave. “I don’t know if…” you mutter, “Well it’s…. it’s weird at home. And…. fuck. Dave this fucking shit is about…”

 

You definitely can’t look at him when you tell him it’s about s-e-x.

 

Dave’s silent and you think you scared him off from ever wanting to invite you into his bedroom in the history of forever when he gets off from his noble perch/spinning chair and slides down next to you.

“Heard your bro and his fiancé?” he asks bluntly. Very bluntly. You’re shocked at how directly he can say those words. He doesn’t look embarrassed but you wonder if there is something happening behind those shades of his that he doesn’t want you to see.

You’re too surprised to do anything besides nod. Dave counters your nod with his own nod. “Messed with that Vantastic brain of yours that your brother is getting some?”

You nod again, a little more embarrassed and a little more ashamed. Dave, as if reading your mind and wanting to comfort you, then hooks the shades from the corner of his face, takes them off, and reaches over to place them on the chair his ass was just on. When he turns back, something tells you that this was going to be one of _those_ conversations you had with Dave.

(Not that you minded really.)

* * *

 

“How’d you know?” you ask. You don’t make any move to scoot closer to him but Dave solves this by letting his arm brush against yours. He grunts out a one-word response,

 

“Dirk.”

 

Ah. That would make sense. You had seen how chummy Dave’s older brother got with his boyfriend. Chummier than they had been when you were a wee-tyke in the middle years. They must’ve been hiding their amorous relationship under a veil of platonic “just bros” irony whenever Dave and you hung out.

Huh.

You wonder idly what Dirk did after Dave…stopped talking to you. You almost shudder to think about _what_ Dirk did. Probably nothing to hurt Dave physically, but he must’ve been working on some mind warping life lesson and feeding it into Dave’s brain over the years. Still, knowing that Dave understood you a little (or maybe a lot) made you feel a little (a lot) better. You can’t help but release you knees from the death grip you had been (unknowingly) giving them.

“I shouldn’t be surprised that they would do shit like that,” you mumble (still looking at the wall.) “But knowing that they do now it’s like…. It’s like seeing the Easter bunny sans bunny costume and finding out he’s just an overweight Santa who can’t get a job during the spring time.”

 

You know that by all the fucking flying frog gods that you sound like Dave when you make those kinds of shitty analogies, but you don’t know how else you can explain it to him. You don’t know how you can explain this weird…betrayal and uncomfortableness you felt. “They hid it so well from me all these years too,” you continue mumbling. “I mean, they must’ve been hiding it for my sake and shit but like…fuck. It’s just…. just weird to think about it. I never thought about it till now because I fucking didn’t know but now that I do it’s not getting out of my-” You hiccup on the air as you say the next word. “Head.”

Dave’s silent as listens to you. One of his legs, exposed in the shorts he’s wearing, brushes against your own short wearing self and the skin-to-skin contact sends a nice shiver through you that you don’t hate.

“Have you ever felt like that?” you ask. “With Dirk? Just suddenly realize that he was so much. …Older than you?” Dave’s silent for a few seconds, letting your mind come down from it’s circling, wheeling state, before he answers.

“Yeah….” he says softly and you can’t help but smile a little at Dave’s tone when-

“But then again, Dirk’s a fucking dinosaur compared to my young bod.”

 

Yup, he ruined it.

 

You frown and pull on one of Dave’s exposed leg hairs. Hard. He lets out a cry that he not so subtly turns into a cough.

“Dick,” he mutters and you can’t help but laugh.

* * *

 

With Dave, the problem he had with his brother was that Dirk was just so much more…. confident than him.

“Heard him and Jake gonna at it like rabbits one day,” he says. He groans at the memory before adding that “John just happened to oh-so-conveniently be there too.” The groaning then turns into shuddering and you can’t help but join in on said shuddering. “God it was fucking humiliating,” Dave recalls. “Ten out of ten will never let myself get into a situation like that.”

He pushes off against you and leans forward enough so that he enters your line of vision. (His eyes are too exposed yet not exposed enough for you.) He’s silent for a few long seconds, just looking at you, before he casts his eyes down.

“It was after John and I became ‘official’ official,” Dave confesses, pointedly staring at your chest and not your eyes. “It was…. not great timing. I mean, John and I…. At the time we heard a shit ton of moaning and weird British dirty talk and we just…high tailed it the fuck out of there.” Dave then chuckles slightly. “Almost left my shades behind and John was tripping over his laces. We were a fucking pair of bro-messes and we ended up doing a midnight Denny’s run.”

You can tell he’s trying to lighten the mood for himself but, like the bull-headed idiot you are, you ignore his attempts at joking.

“What happened after that? How did you feel?” you ask and you almost kick yourself for asking because it wipes the smile from Dave’s face. It was like when…. Kankri had brought up his college experience when you were going off an emotional high about Prospit. You almost stand up right there and kick yourself but Dave stops you by sighing and (still staring at not your face area) admitting sheepishly,

“I guess I panicked after that.”

His hands curl into fists and he slumps back against the bed. He’s quickly becoming a picture of pity and you hate seeing him sad but still….

Still you turn your body to face him and ask him, shy but at the same time oddly forceful, “Why?”

* * *

 

Dave takes a shuddery breath, as if feeling the chill of the past stepping on him and crushing him, and lets out a choked exhale.

“I guess I felt like, not good enough?” Dave says softly. You can see him turning red and whether it’s from past embarrassment, current embarrassment, or past regret (or all three) you don’t know. “I mean…I guess I felt like I was just…leading John on,” Dave admits quietly and hesitantly. “Worse I felt ….I felt I had to prove my gayness to John.” Dave shakes his head and you have to wait for him to continue again.

 

And, for the second time that night, Dave shocks you.

 

“Before John and me became a couple,” Dave says when he finally speaks up once more. “I…. I fucking I dated his cousin.”

He looks at you and you know he can see the look of shock on your face as he continues speaking. “I know…. I know what you’re going to say Karkitty. ‘What the actual flying fuck Dave?!’ ‘How could you do something so shitty?’ Yeah I-I know how…. bad past me was.”

Dave shakes his head, ashamed.

“I mean, I was shitty with a capital ‘S’ for ‘Suicide Squad’. I fucking dated two members of the same metaphoric apple tree. And…yeah…. Tiny teen Dave was a jerk.”

You would be angrier at Dave (because seriously what the fuck Strider?!) but he looks so disappointed in himself that those infuriated feelings die down in you.

 

“Did the whole courting shit and flowers,” Dave continues. “Really _really_ liked her and I guess…. I felt good. I thought me and her…. Her and me…. We were like, meant to be and all that shit but…” He sighs again.

“But then I met John and we just…. something was there that wasn’t there with her. Then…” his voice shakes as he continues. “Then I-I panicked about more than bro liking John and…. I felt awful for leading on her.”

He looks painfully sad as he continues.

“She…John’s cousin… _Jade_ …. dating her was great. We did everything and anything together but I…. I felt like I was pretending to _be_ someone around her. I couldn’t be myself. I could be a part of myself but I was always holding back from her and she…. she didn’t deserve that.” He chuckles at the memory. “She let me have it one day. Told me what I was trying to avoid straight to my face. Shit man it was like that scene in a movie where everything goes wrong. I knew she was right for asking me to end things for my own sake but…. God did it hurt like hell.”

Judging by his facial expression, it looks like the memory of their break still hurts. Not in the “I-still-love-you” hurting way but in an “I-wish-that-never-happened-because-I-didn't-mean-to-hurt-you” hurting way.

* * *

 

“When did you start dating…. Jade?” you ask curiously. This was the first you were hearing of Dave’s bisexuality and you couldn’t help but feel…. curious as what past Dave did. What the Dave who you had been wondering about did while you were at your first shitty high school.

“Freshman year,” he says. “She was someone I met when I was trying to prank Dirk with passive aggressive foliage and we just…hit it off. Then…Then she introduced me to John and we found out we went to the same school and…” Dave chokes on his breath and hugs his arms. “I guess…. I began cheating on her without even realizing that I was cheating.”

 

He sighs again.

 

“That’s why when that shit with Dirk happened I got…. I got hella jealous of how confident he was in his flaming homosexuality,” Dave says. “Dirk was always better at being himself than me. He was just…. he is just…. he can be himself without giving a fuck. Dude was gay the second he slipped out of the womb and I guess…I always wanted that confidence. And when John and I began exploring our inner gayness and bi-ness and we heard them doing that I just… Started talking about everything having to do with sex.” Dave looks ashamed as he confesses the next part.

“Condoms, penetration, lube. Fuck Karkitty I was a mess. I was a sexy mess but not the good ‘sexy’. I was the literal B-grade romcom ‘fuck me or die’ sexy mess. The only thing that was sexy about me was how ironically un-sexy I was. I felt like if I didn’t do something that showed I _could_ like guys the same way I liked girls then John would be mad at me and all my shit with Jade would’ve been for _nothing_.” He makes a pained, shaky, breathy noise then and goes silent, blushing furiously at all the truths he laid out to you on a fucking golden platter.

 

You feel a weird…understanding with Dave’s problem.

 

To anyone else, it sounded like Dave had been a giant assed jerk and hell, maybe he was. Maybe he was the worst piece of human scum to ever drift in the farts of life. But you still couldn’t hate him when you knew how…. terrifying it was to accept yourself. To know yourself. To go through all the ups and downs in life and still be hanging on in the end. You can’t hate Dave because he’s struggled as well.

And you can’t hate Dave because…. it’s simply _Dave_. Your confused, infuriatingly stupid, charmingly seductive, _Dave_ and you just _can’t hate him_.

“I’m better now though,” Dave says, finally looking at you. “Like, John talked me out of it before shit went down and I’m so fucking glad that he did but …yeah I was insecure as hell.”

Dave suddenly, for some god-forsaken reason, laughs and shakes his head. “Feels fucking weird as hell telling you about this,” he says. “But I mean…. I guess I would’ve told you someday.”

The expression on his face makes your breath catch and makes your heart do that weird, twingy, tight feeling. It also makes your face feel too warm and your body feel too cold. It’s an all too familiar yet foreign feeling that you thought you hated but now…Now….

(You can feel a smile, reserved and bashful, creep its way onto your face.)

Slowly then, so slowly that it’s like the two of you are moving at backwards speed like in a bad Adam Sandler movie, Dave leans in and, lightly, very lightly, presses his hand against your cheek. It’s similar to the pap that Kankri gives you…. but it’s not. It’s like Dave trying to tell you something through touching you. But what it is, you’re not sure you’re interpreting it in the _right_ way.

When he doesn’t pull away you lift your own hand and touch the hand on your cheek. You caress the palm further into you and tell him without words that you still, and would always, like him and love him. That he would always be that same dorky boy that you met in photo class all those years ago.

“Talk to your brother Karkat,” Dave says, “It will be better if you did.”

 

(You come dangerously close to kissing Dave Strider that night.)

* * *

 

You do finally talk to Kankri.

You don’t know exactly how to approach the subject but the “subject” himself approaches you. Kankri looks nervous as he does and you don’t blame him. This is probably the longest you haven’t talked to him since you were…. well…since you were born. It’s strange to think that the brother you had once upon a time wanted to only get into an argument with for arguments sake has become someone so…close to you. He was the one who thought you were growing up quickly when, in reality, you two were growing up faster than both of you had expected. Here you were, going through your own crap and drama, but there was Kankri who too was going through his shit. Shit that you did and did not know about. Shit that he may never tell you about, no matter how much you begged. No matter how much Cronus egged him on to tell you. He was his own person just like you were your own person.

“May we…. talk Karkat?” Kankri asks, a bit hesitant and a bit shy. You nod and make room for him on the couch. He sits cross-legged on the cushions and looks at you, clears his throat, then looks away.

“I am sorry for…for whatever I have done,” he says. You can see him frowning at himself, confused on what exactly to do and what exactly he has done, but determined to make it right once again. “If…If it was my words that have bothered you than I’ll try to…talk less,” he says. “I am aware that I can occasionally speak out of line despite myself and I would hate to know that I have triggered you in a way that had made you feel upset-”

“It wasn’t your fault,” you say quickly, cutting him off. He looks over at you, obviously surprised (and a bit hurt) that his “grand apology” is being disregarded. “If it was anyone’s fault it was fucking my own,” you say before he can reprimand you for cutting off his attempt of saying “I’m sorry.” You feel yourself shrugging as you add, “That or it was technically Cronus’ fault.”

The “Language Karkat” on Kankri’s lips dies and is replaced with a questioning “Excuse me but what does Cronus have to do with it?”

Another shrug from you. “Just…you and Cronus,” you say. “I guess I forget that you two are older than me and have… stuff you do in private.” You blush as you add the words, “Titillating stuff.”

You don’t even need to look at Kankri to know he’s turning red again. “Oh…. lord….” he mutters. It’s followed by another “Oh lord” and an “Oh my god” and a long period of silence.

When you do finally look at him, Kankri’s hands are covering his face and he’s mumbling incoherent words to himself, with a “I’m going to kill him” occasionally thrown in. It takes him a several minutes of non-stop mutterings (and a hard poke-jab from you) that he finally looks up, his face extremely flushed.

“Y-you heard that?” he squeaks. “Oh god you heard that didn’t you?” Kankri actually curses then and he looks horribly guilty.

You nod and Kankri splutters again. “Shit…. fuck….” he curses, “Fuck I…I…. I thought you weren’t home and…. we-we don’t usually do that I swear! We only sometimes-! Oh fuck….It’s just…just…. Sometimes when you’re with someone you love it’s just…just…just-!” Kankri is struggling to get the words out but what those words are you (and probably Kankri himself) have no idea what it is.

“Didn’t hear too much,” you say, cutting him off again before more “Fucks!” and “Shits!” can come out of your brother’s mouth. Kankri’s mouth snaps shut and his face is redder than you have ever seen it before. For some reason, it’s his expression that gives you the courage to continue.

“But I did hear it and I…I guess I felt…. betrayed and….” You can feel the palms of your hands begin to sweat as you say, “Insecure and shit.”

A surprised look comes over Kankri’s face as you say that. “Insecure?” he says. You answer with another nod and you repeat the word one more time before you look away. “Yeah…. Insecure,” you say. You don’t tell him all your thoughts and ponderings, but you’re pretty sure that Kankri understands you.

There’s a silence that follows before Kankri, your wonderfully idiotic brother, carefully and slowly ruffles your head. When you don’t flinch away from him, Kankri leans in and gives you a side hug.

“I’m sorry you had to hear that,” he says quietly. “And I’m sorry I made you feel…. bad about yourself.”

You shrug as best as you could. “It’s a part of growing up isn’t it?” you say, “Realizing shit about your family that you never thought of before.”

Kankri nods. “It is,” he says. “It is.”

* * *

 

To show that you’ve forgiven Kankri you agree to go with him the end of the world the following Saturday. Meaning that you go with him to find flowers. For his dress. His wedding dress.

To any normal person, finding flower would be simple. Go online, find flowers, purchase flowers, and done. Fucking magical story time ending. Over and out.

It’s clear though that this is not Porrim’s first time ordering flowers. First time ordering for a wedding dress perhaps, but not the first time using flowers to help improve her dresses.

“It has to match after all,” Porrim says nudging Kankri as he grumbles in the front seat of the car. You two of you were sitting in Porrim’s car and Kankri had his best “I disagree to all that is going on around me” face on. Porrim just laughs at your brother’s attempt at looking angry. “I imagine that you would just pick any random bunches of flowers,” she says.

You ignore the “adult bantering” happening in the front of the car and watch the passing scenery from your window. To your surprise, you recognize some of the buildings and you realize that the three were headed back to that seaside town where your…. parents…. were. Are. Are buried. Are still buried at.

You guys are going to your not-yet-almost home. The town that means nothing but everything to you.

 

(Huh, small world.)

 

“Have more faith in me Porrim,” Kankri complains, looking out the window (he must be watching the scenery too and realized where you guys were going. He’s visibly tense and whether it's from the dark angel known as Porrim to his left or the scenery to his right you don’t know.) “I would’ve picked flowers that were alright and I’m quite offended that you believe my choice in foliage would not be up to standards with your visions of fashion.”

“You would’ve walked down the aisle with a potted orchid Kanny,” Porrim says bluntly yet teasingly. She ruffles your brother’s hair like a whirlwind and he growls at her to stop, which she does. She stops both the ruffling and the car driving so suddenly that you and Kankri lurch in your seats and the seatbelt tightens around abdomen giving you a car-induced sucker punch.

 

Judging by the gap from Kankri, he was subjected to the same tummy jab.

 

“Bully,” Kankri mutters as Porrim unbuckles herself and gets out. She ignores him, opens the car door for you, and the three of you walking into the flower shop. There’s a ridiculous picture of what might be an octopus on the shop’s sign and the name “Getting Laid in Jade” is too much of a double meaning for you to not take a picture of. Porrim strolls confidentially through the door as Kankri can only shake his head at your antics.

(You send the picture to John and Dave with the caption “THE FLOWERS ARE ABOUT TO TEAR MY NOSE FROM ITS SOCKET WITH ITS SMELL”. Surprisingly, neither one of them replies.) 

* * *

 

The smiling glasses girl behind the counter looks about your age and that surprises you. What surprises you even more is how happy she looks while working. As if she’s in her natural element when surrounded by flowers and green plant life and shit.

She happily bounces back everyone of Porrim’s icy questions like she’s playing a friendly and amicable game of chess. She must’ve done this before because not only is she answering each question like she studied them for a fourth grade spelling test, but she’s also throwing in a joke here and there.

 

She promises the “Best flowers in the world for your special day!”

 

“You’ll make a beautiful bride!” Plant Girl says grinning. It’s her grin that has your eyes widen in surprise and you feel your cheeks color a little.

(If you weren’t gay, she would be up there on the list of “Please date me until we marry” list.)

 

“Oh its not for me,” Porrim says and nudges your brother. “It’s for Cranky Vantas over here. Say ‘hello’ Cranky darling.”

Kankri growls in response and refuses to answer.

 

Plant Girl then raises a single eyebrow and you watch as she literally becomes the definition of the word “flabbergasted.”

“Vantas?” she says. “Like as in Karkat Vantas?”

 

You raise your hand as if you were in school (Private school mannerisms sure did implant its ass inside your brain. Your brain now has an ass imprint of Skaia High permanently stuck in it. You don’t know whether to be happy or fucking furious that the educational organization beat your own mind in the game of wits and submission.) “I’m Karkat Vantas,” you say. “The blushing bride over there is my brother Kankri. Please don’t get the two of us mixed up.” You throw in an added glower as you say the words “Don’t” again. Kankri looks like he wants to say something but Porrim flicks his ear, which distracts him long enough for Plant Girl to get a word in.

To your surprise, her grin seems to widen and then become almost…canine, with her two front teeth glistening as if they were about to hurt you like both Maryam’s metaphoric vampire teeth. (At least…you think they’re metaphoric. You haven’t been bitten by either of them but you had seen Rose where a scarf on some days at school and it didn’t take a baby in diapers filled with piss to know that Rose’s neck had become a parking spot for Kanaya’s teeth over the weekend.)

 

(You wish your neck was a parking spot for hickies. Not for Maryam hickies obviously but for other…hickies…)

 

“So you’re the one those dummies haven’t shut up about!” Plant Girl yells (actually yells). She catches you off guard and Porrim (dark angel that she is) takes that moment to “conveniently” drag Kankri out of the shop having just “realized” that the town had a “Great cake bakery that would serve the perfect red velvet for a certain red wearing sweater talkative young man.” You hardly process them leaving, too confused with Plant Girl to pay attention to Kankri struggling against Porrim’s grip.

 

Plant Girl doesn’t stop grinning as she speaks again.

 

“It’s nice to finally put a face to the name! Honestly I thought you were just a figment of everyone’s stressed out private school imaginations! I guess I owe people money now but hey, at least I know they didn’t dream you up!” She then laughs and it’s like she’s cackling and snorting at the same time. It’s…. oddly charming. That and the way her eyes close slightly when she laughs, as if she’s laughing but also sleeping at the same time.

So far, she isn’t like any of the girls you’ve had invade your life but she seems so…. familiar some how. Those eyes, those teeth, that infectious personality that both pissed you off and made you want to smile. It reminds you of someone. Someone you knew too well…

 

“Who…are you?” you ask. A part of you for some reason feels like it already knows the answer but you still need to (want to) ask. The girl just winks at you.

 

“Ah I see, you don’t know me! Should’ve known those chumps would leave me out of the loop of their weird ass conversations they have! John better expect to have his mailbox flooded with Betty Crocker cookbooks on his birthday! But anyway, allow me to introduce myself!” She bows in an extravagant over-the-top manner and gives you a double finger gun.

That…definitely looks familiar too but she can’t be…. Can she even be?

She’s…She’s….

 

“Jade Harley!” Plant Girl exclaims happily. “The youngest professional botanist on the east coast if I do say so myself! Cousin of John Egdork the First and ex-girlfriend of Dave the Dipshit!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER HAS BEEN MAJORLY EDITED FROM THE ORIGINAL FIRST EDIT CAUSE THAT ONE WAS SHIT
> 
> Uh....this is like over 10k and I didn't want to split it up. Can someone help me edit?
> 
> Also here's Jade. Tadah. She's here. Be happy. I'm happy. 
> 
> Please help me with typos. please. help. sos. whatever. yeahhhhhhhh.


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